We have a tendency. The tendency to travel the past, the future, and all the possible quasi-times that are offered to us. I’m still in the wild, as my favorite would say, who is probably playing with a LEGO somewhere. In the wild, where I’m kind of happy. When I go out, sometimes I just enjoy the things around me, stop at the top of the hill by the cemetery and watch the forest on the opposite hillside of the valley. There are no big hills, just hills. And what if the forest is not here in a few years, I’m reaching for the future, which is sad without the forest, but then I go back to now and I just enjoy the view around me. The forest, the houses, everything. Below the forest, a waterman would normally sit there by the willows and pond, or he sat there for a few years, at least.

Here and now passes every moment and becomes a thing of the past. And it should be the most pleasant time that can be offered to me. The world here and now should be the best time for me. My past is sad and pushes me, quite often on my chest, expanding in my head, like an infinite universe. It’s full of torn papers, poems, stress, alcohol, and just the normal stuff, after all. That’s life. In my future, exactly the future is missing, there is nothing there. And the present? That present has no motivation, please stop me at this time, I just want to petrify. Sometimes it occurs to me that I’m warm with sadness, it radiates from me as if I opened a stove to throw a log into the fire.

„Are you OK?“ they ask me when I stare somewhere too long with an absent gaze. I’m not here, I’m at another time, please hold me so I don’t get lost, sounds in my head. Please warn me when I start moving away. I’m heading for the horizon and look behind it to see if there’s just a wasteland. Just to peek over, but there’s nothing there yet. Time to go back.

But there are no other worlds and there will be time to go and try to find a slightly better place to be in.

Hello, foreign world, can you hear me? Do you even exist?