It happened again. I don't know what it was, but I know it happened.

As soon as I become aware, I recognize the sensation creeping throughout my body. The spasm of my nerves. The tingling along my back. The sharp jab in my head, as though someone whipped a meteor at it. Despite never experiencing this before, I know this is not the first time it's happened.

Whatever it is, it's occurred often enough that my body has learned to adapt.

As my body loosens up, I feel the nausea build as my mind tries to recollect itself. It's been spun up into a whirlwind, piled with memories that never happened. I'd call them daydreams, but they're too specific in how they interconnect with one another. If they were dreams, the continuity would break down at some point, right?

In desperation, I try holding onto a memory. What comes to mind feels straining and uncomfortable, but I don't care. I examine it as closely as I can, struggling to find any detail that would ground the picture — and, ideally, everything else. The sense of déjà vu, of retreading the same ground over and over again, it overwhelms every sense of my body as my eyes pan over the scene. None of this happened to me, but I feel it must have.

Then, in the midst of the confusion, I recognize something; someone.

Like clockwork, my brain crashes before I have a chance to process. The memory shatters into shards that get swept up in the wind. Within an instant, the world around me tears part and rebuilds itself, its atoms reshuffled but still intact. And as the faux-memories fade from my mind, my sense of recognition returns its promise: Those were my friends, people with whom I had just gotten familiar with.

Déjà vu ripples through my body, and a grief within me stirs. I have the sense that I will meet these people again. I may not remember the faces in those memories, but I will soon grow accustomed to seeing them with time. And soon enough I will again live through those electrifying first moments where everything seemed right. The early laughs. The awkward banter as we got to know each other. The times that we had each other's backs, no matter what.

To think I'll have the chance to experience those joys again, it tortures me.

This was not something I wanted to reexperience. Things may have grown turbulent, but anything worthwhile doesn't come easy. I longed for things to work out with these people — at least, I think I did. I can't recall how strong of a bond we held together. Instead, I've succumbed to an endless cycle that leads me nowhere except spinning in circles. My highest moments for all to see, for that's all there is to see.

As the repetition of this cycle begins to set in, I begin to softly weep. I will never move past the honeymoon phase of friendship. I will never taste the bitterness of their affection. I will never know how far they would be willing to go for me, even if it meant endangering themselves.

If the Peacemaker still watches, I ask of him, please, move the clock forward. Break me free of this prison. Let me live my life.

My eyes forcibly blink. My mind blanks.

I don't know what I'm crying about.