I'm running and have a feeling that someone is running next to me. He has his own world, his chronology, but my memories and my thoughts. He shows me places, people, and I do not know if it had really happened to me, or it's just a fantasy.

I’m running and thinking about where to or what from. And why do I run? I cannot stop. As if, if you stop, it will wash away into the funnel of reality.

I run, but all around is in slow motion, in single frames. Or am I standing, but the world is running? It sweeps with furious speed, and you seem to snatch pieces of shadow and light, those crumbs that managed to hold. And you hold it tightly-tightly, you look at them. And it becomes so easy and sad.

Is it me? And what am I? Who determines who I should be? Time is running away. Or maybe it was it running next to me? Heals with its fantasies. It is impossible to see it, but it's worth seeing, inside yourself. The only place where you can find what you need.