The clock stopped.
They hadn't noticed
for a hundred years.
In 2045, she held
the same paper she had
first seen in 1935.
The portal opened
every Tuesday
at two o'clock sharp.
A whisper in the
wind spoke of
forgotten futures.
He wore the scars
of futures undone,
each day
remaking the past.
Some dreams are
just memories
from lives
yet to be lived.
The last story
was told
before its
beginning.