Inside Time

The time continuum does not really exist, never has; it is simply a science-fiction writer’s construct. I learned this, this morning as I ran into myself coming out of a grocery store.

I looked at me with as much surprise as I did when I recognized that stupid look on my face, that one that is so familiar to me. We stood there, dumbfounded, lost in our surprises as other shoppers move by us in rapid succession without seeing either of us.

“How are you?” I finally asked.

“I…I…I’m…” I stuttered, learning that I was using my voice.

As I stepped back to allow me to exit the door way, I vanished, evaporating like a million-upon-million pixels into the wintry atmosphere. I never got the chance to answer me or ask me how I was doing.

From there, my entire day has been a series of a thousand micro-shifts and wavy distortions, much like heat coming off asphalt, and all of them in my mind. And now, this evening, as I lay in my bed, it comes to me that I might be singular to only me and how I am the one who vanished.

Perhaps I’ll still be here come morning, or maybe, I’ll be here when the sunrises.