Dark ease flirts with me.

I watch sharp fingers break the sky in low frame rates.

Cyclically sheeted lights hurl me softly to time detached.

I fall, I rest, I am — lost in asymptotes severely undefined.

Past, Present, and Future beside me, but know only one.

My memories are unsure; I watch them through broken, hopeful eyes.

They are beautiful.

They are not mine.

This moment takes me.

This freedom is fragile.

This feeling — foreign.

One word could capture it completely:

It is a word I do not have.