(Following a recent diagnosis of FND, it all begins to make sense)

The world slows to a crawl as my first footfall hits the ground,
A hush descends on the waiting world,
Time imperceptibly grinds into low gear,
And I am here,
Right behind me,
The, “Me,” that you and I see,
I’m a passenger watching myself drive,
Wondering what time that me is planning to arrive?
And sounds are too vibrant as they compensate for the colour dissipation,
I hear everything,
Birds gently singing from the trees, and the breeze,
That whispers in the branches.
Dogs look at me differently,
As if they can sense another being living absolutely in the now,
But how?
I don’t really know if they can,
If some primeval bond is formed between, “beast,” and man,
But the dogs stare lingers.
A young couple sit in their car on the drive,
And whatever he says, silent behind the windscreens laminated glass,
She seems to start crying and lifts a hand to her lips,
And as I, just behind me, slowly shuffle past,
And the only thing that seems real is the numbness in my fingertips.
I’ve been out for hours, though my watch disagrees and says, “more like minutes,”
But who knows, the world crawls by and I’m stuck in it,
Comforted by the gentle sounds from afar,
Disturbed by the intrusive noise of a car,
And the face that is my face forces a smile and a hollow, “Hello,”
At a passer-by, is this real? I don’t know,
Dissociated shopping was a mistake,
I’m still not sure what I’ve bought,
But the slow journey home beckons,
And I know I should heed it, but I’m not sure why I ought.