I felt it before, all those times before... maybe I'm reliving a faded memory.
Though my hands are numb from this pen, scribbling and drawing, imaging and inventing; I've come to realize it is all an illusion. Perhaps this world made it so. Perhaps I am unlike another. Perhaps I am everyone else before me.
It's a thrill to dive into the times of misunderstanding, but the future doesn't wait for any soul. I'd rather not be left behind.