Fast-forwarding

I found myself waiting for the moment to pass. For time to fast forward so quickly that the next time I opened my eyes, I would be in a different city in a different year, with a wall painted in the faintest of hues and sunlight filtering in through the window.

I’d probably relive this moment while sipping on my cup of tea, a lot like how our fingers absent-mindedly trace the scar of a once gaping wound, all healed up nicely. Probably then, this will seem less intense… these feelings, these words and these people.

I desperately wanted a glimpse of the future, to know if I survived this moment and the time after that.

I wanted out.
I needed to get out.
And I was ready to do anything.

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