&.
nothing beautiful can last
By Roxy &
It is a timeless disease, after all. As much as I wish nothing was known about me, even by my closest peers, I sometimes feel like they understand what’s going on. Maybe in another timeline I have already given into them, with their friendliness and their constant cheering. It could be me, as well. Perhaps in my future I’ll have been less sad.
It is genetic. My mother had it, and somehow, she managed to hide it from my father. He used to tell me about how charming she was with her volatile personality. It makes me wonder how he would have felt if he had been told about it. When he knew his daughter had it he didn’t really know how to react. I just know that one day, I got switched into a version of me which had ran away, and then I never found my way back home.
I first knew when I was thirteen, the day I became twelve again. I’m lucky I told my mother about it instead of my father, as she was more understanding. She told me that every time she goes through my first switch, she always tells me the same thing. I don’t remember the words anymore, but I know the basic message of it. That I must hide it, that it is dangerous, and that she’s sorry, because she knew it would be this way, that people would hurt me, and it was selfish to bring me to life.
I do think that it was selfish. It’s hard to form meaningful relationships, knowing that in the blink of an eye they will not have known me, or I will have skipped forward to their deaths, or who knows, maybe in some timeline I’ve tried to run away from them, and I will be switched into it without knowing why I did it or how.
I’m trapped, hopping through endless time, creating futures and pasts. Everyone else just thinks my personality changes a lot, or that I’m easily distracted, but they always realize what’s really going on.
It is a timeless disease, after all.