I’m a time traveller. It all began when I was seven,
though it didn’t really start until I reached ten or so.
At first, being cautious, I stuck to the not-so-distant
past of my own neighbourhood. As naïve as it was,
it gave me a safe haven to practise my new ability.
But it wasn’t until I joined the two paid mourners
at Père-Lachaise that I realised its full potential.
And ever since, I have travelled back and forth
with no restrictions and no regrets, perhaps.
If only I had realised then what I had missed
in this cemetery of intentionally blank pages.