I don't wanna feel like this ever ever ever ever ever again.

Yesterday I was sure.
Today the windows have fogged up.
Tomorrow has yet to come.
Tomorrow has also already happened.
Today the windows were also clear.
And yesterday I was also still searching.

I exist in infinite iterations outside the shackles of time.
I exist in the four known dimension and in all the unknowns as well.
Yet I don't exist at all.
However, the me in this reality experiences life in a linear fashion, as a slave to the four known dimensions, to his own existence, and to this single iteration.
Here I am.
Good.
Or.
Bad.
Here I am.
No, I am not fucking high.