Again
Except I’m not allowed to time travel.
I could go through ten years, 20 years, 37 years of butterflies doing their thing.
Strange voices.
Or unawareness, whichever comes first.
Into the beehive which is restlessness, and maybe never happened again.
Except I’m not allowed to time travel.
I am carrying mud of the past across the kitchen of existence.
Mangled expectations for:
Ten years ago.
Strange voices didn’t exist, just numb stuff.
The powers didn’t exist in some ways,
Maybe I manifested being a burden instead.
Which explains that summer,
At least in a way I could understand.
Now.
They know I can time travel.
They can predict what I would pack in a bag.
So they took away all the stuff I packed three days from now.
I used to read minds, now they have that from my bag they took.
Now I can’t even read words in the ether or the TV.
Yes you.
Except I’m not allowed to time travel.
I live in an era mangled from myself.
And one of us in the future, one is the flickering light fixture in here.
The rusted shower handles might be from another universe.
Except I’m not allowed to time travel.
What, honey?
See you in a week or something.
I used my powers to shut them up.
Evil laughter continued anyway.
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