I write things and they're always about you.
It’s funny that whenever we talk about time travel, most of us pick childhood as the specific window of time to visit.
You’re inside of a burning building.You’re drowning inside the magician’s fishtank.You’re blind inside this buried casket.
But I’m there too. I see you.
I touch you and I stop time.
You’re frozen, forever in this moment in what can only be described as a fragment in, well, time.
Your hair is caught in between the downfall of it’s weight being pulled by gravity and the…