No time left !
What time is it ? Ah ! No time left. I've got to go ! Platform 8, carriage 12. Quick, I jump on. Suitcase, bag… umbrella. Ok, I’ve got it all. Shit, my ticket ? Ah, here it is. I sit down. I settle. The train starts moving. Sigh. Chill out… I look into the void, my forehead against the window, I scan the countryside without seing it, the fields, the villages or the rivers offer themselves to my eyes. The speed of the train stretches, distorts and smoothes up the world on the other side. In the distance, the sky remains eternal, inaccessible and immutable. Before me danse the colours, the shapes with their shadows, the season perfumes that I sense, streched bodies of water… Out there, a new world is born, distorted and accelerated by speed. The speed turns me into a wanderer. The one who is not from here, who looks without seeing and yet impregnates colors, shapes and moments...
Alike the time we are crossing, the train moves fast, faster and faster. Everything turns soft, speed makes the world out there less fast. Am I on the train ? Am I the train ? Is time moving ? Space, time, chaos : everything mixes, entangles. I am dispossessed of my essence, I become speed. I become time. I am time.

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