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.