T I M E T R A V E L .

 Time travel is not stepping into a machine, floating into the depths of a wormhole, or being one with the speed of light, nor is it being hooked up to wires.

It is stepping out and greeting the sunshine, Going to places never before.

 Where the time is inconstant with you. 

It is holding up a book, and letting your thoughts gaze seep into each word, taking it in like water sliding down ones dry, bruised throat. 

Time traveling is those beautiful slow-mo acts done underwater with hair cutting through the water and hands weaving like waves.

Time traveling is reading the text messages late at night at the most drunken state that even soberness couldn't be as careful to still fall for you- even when the relationship ended three winters ago, three winters ago I was with you hand and hand.

Our hands- made for each other. Hell, our bodies were made for each other.

All our curves and edges fitting in like perfect, crisp pieces of a puzzles, or better yet a contradicting poem made of oxymorons and only oxymorons.

Time traveling is the memories we've shared way back when- when we had words in our mouths but decided to smother them in grunts and "mmhms" and those sexuallised "ahhs" in bed. Intertwined tongues, my hands in your hair, your hands in mine. Our bodies together, with you stealing my breath before I even allow myself to breath. 

Time traveling is carving our initials on an old, sober tree trunk and letting the roots take our souls wherever. Letting our hearts and souls grow as the trees lives onwards. 

Time traveling is thinking about the times we were kids, but only wishing to grow older and now that we're adults, our only wish is wanting to go back to being kids that used to come home with scratched up bodies from falling onto pavemented floors, but now all we fall down at are the same streets. With unbalanced feet and subconscious minds. 

Time traveling is replaying a dream in our heads and calling it dejavu, letting it drift by like aimless fluffy clouds.