A Man in Time

He was the sole person I couldn’t feel time moving around whenever we conversed. I remember you would ask me: ”Who taught you to do that?” whenever I followed his words by suddenly standing in the middle of chaos like a statue with hands on my face. And I’d close my eyes tightly, imagine a single place in the entire world -and maybe beyond- I wanted to be in, then my muscles would relax, and I’d take a deep breath and smile. It works every single time I’m tensed. It’s beautiful how your imagination can take you to places you’ve never been to, this is how I learned that time travel is possible; it’s all in your head.
He gave me a pocket watch that has a raven carved on it because he knew how much I love Poe and how my mind is always occupied with analyzing time.
“It’s an illusion” he told me before handing me the watch, “control it” he said.
I was too captivated with his strangeness that I did not spend much time analyzing the meaning behinds his absurd remarks.
Here’s the thing about unordinary people: you never forget them.

There was a time when I found him drowned in a deep conversation with a street artist who walked around with nothing but a brush, withered paint buckets of three colors (black, white and red) and a smile. It was unexpected that he would spend more than an hour talking to him because he wasn’t an art enthusiast.
“I love the light that flickers in their eyes” he said. People’s eyes would glow whenever they talked about what they’re passionate about. And that was something that lifted him up whenever he was down; the micro expressions that reveal a person’s passion towards something/someone. He said that it seemed to him like a person’s soul is finally unchained whenever he was united with passion.

A strange habit of his was to tell stories that have no endings. He said he loved being a storyteller without necessarily telling a story in its literal definition. And stories don’t have to end to be worth telling, stories happen all the time.

Sometimes, I would try to trace him, but all the paths that lead to him are invisible, and that scares me because I have tons of vivid memories of him, like that time he swayed under the raindrops as if listening to music.
And then I realize; the reason might be that my pocket watch never existed, and I might have crossed the cosmic boundaries which divide time.



via: https://mentalathlete.files.wordpress.com/2012/05/time-travel-clock.jpg
via: https://mentalathlete.files.wordpress.com/2012/05/time-travel-clock.jpg

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