JL Peridot

A time traveller absconds to the past in search of her lost love. One word: my name. A call from Origin through the neural lace grafted to my brain and nerves, connecting me to another place in another time. A reminder of what I'm here to do. I clutch a bottle cap; its sharp metal edges ground me in the present. It's funny, don't you think, to consider this moment the present, as if the past and future I came from aren't supposed to exist? If you were here, I'd ask.
You'd smile and kiss my forehead and say you love my nonsense questions. But you're not here. They want me to forget you ever were.