When he skipped that bit of time
He saw himself millionths of millionths of seconds
Heading up to the same road,
But he was a bit ahead,
Trapped into two instants,
Conscious and powerless,
Awaiting for a future he could always foresee,
But nevertheless inevitable.

He could not act,
But his feelings could change,
He learned to keep distance from the sights,
That bit did not change the course,
But changed his structure,
His pulse, his synapses, his chemistry,
Until that multidimensional version of himself
Started turning into eternity.
It was the same bit skipped,
But sounded like a lightning waiting for a thunder.

When he saw his own death, it was already too late:
He has always lived life out of his own pace.
He was too early to be present in any moment.