Night had settled over our apartment like a familiar blanket, the kind Ma used to wrap around me when I was sick. The kitchen clock read 11:47 PM, its red digits counting down moments that felt simultaneously new and remembered. Ma sat across from me, her night-shift scrubs traded for worn pajamas, her eyes carrying that particular mixture of love and worry that transcended timelines.
"You didn't touch your dinner," she said, pushing the plate of now-cold rice and beans closer to me. "And you've been staring at that notebook for hours."
In my other life, this night had gone differently. I'd been out on the streets, angry about losing a battle I'd now won, while she worked a double shift at the hospital. The weight of changing time sat heavy in my chest:
*[Verse 1]*
*Memories like ghosts at the kitchen table*
*Dancing through the spaces between what I'm able*
*To explain to the woman who gave me life twice*
*Once through birth, once through sacrifice*
*How do you tell your mother you're from tomorrow?*
*That every moment with her is borrowed*
*From a future that's no longer gonna be*
*Because her son came back to set time free?*
"Just thinking, Ma," I said, closing the notebook filled with twenty years of unwritten lyrics. "About the future."
She reached across the table, her hand covering mine. The touch sent ripples through both timelines – in 2024, she'd have arthritis in these fingers from decades of typing medical records. Not this time. Not if I played this right.
"You're seventeen, baby. The future will come when it comes."
If she only knew.
*[Hook]*
*Living in the spaces*
*Between then and now*
*Rewriting all the places*
*Where time allows*
*Mother's love eternal*
*Bridges every day*
*Between the son she raised once*
*And the one who found his way*
*Back through time's curtain*
*To make things right*
*Dancing through the uncertain*
*Hours of night*
The city's symphony filtered through our third-floor window – car horns, distant sirens, the baseline of urban life circa 2004. I'd forgotten how raw the Bronx sounded before gentrification smoothed its edges. Ma got up to make tea, her movements a choreography I'd memorized across decades.
"Rico called me today," she said casually, though nothing about a mother was ever truly casual. "Said you turned down a record deal."
The kettle whistled – a perfect beat break for the verse building in my mind:
*[Verse 2]*
*Strategic moves looking like hesitation*
*To eyes that can't see the full constellation*
*Of choices spreading through future's maze*
*Like light through crystal in morning's haze*
*Mama's worried about the dreams I'm chasing*
*Don't know her son's already done the racing*
*Through years that haven't happened yet*
*Playing chess with time while others place their bet*
"Trust me, Ma. Something better's coming."
She set a mug of chamomile tea before me – the same brand she'd still be drinking in 2024. "That's what worries me, Marcus. This certainty you suddenly have. This... change in you." She sat back down, her eyes searching my face for the son she knew. "It's like you grew up overnight."
The irony almost made me laugh. Instead, I sipped the tea, letting its familiar warmth ground me between timelines.
*[Bridge]*
*Time's a circle in a mother's eyes*
*Every moment precious as it flies*
*Through the years between who we are*
*And who we're gonna be by far*
*Trust the journey, trust the way*
*Tomorrow's darkness turns to day*
*When you've seen both sides of time*
*Every moment feels sublime*
"Remember when I was ten," I said carefully, "and you wanted to take that nursing course, but couldn't afford the books?"
She stilled, cup halfway to her lips. "How did you...?"
"You never told anyone about that dream. Kept working records instead, making sure I had everything I needed." In my original timeline, she'd never gone back to school. The weight of that sacrificed future pressed against my chest. "Things are about to change, Ma. All those dreams you put on hold? They're coming back around."
She studied me with eyes that had seen through every childhood fever and teenage scheme. "You sound so sure."
"Because I am." I opened my notebook to a fresh page, letting tomorrow's lyrics flow:
*[Outro]*
*Mother's dreams and son's devotion*
*Weaving through time's endless ocean*
*Every sacrifice she made*
*Now returning like a trade*
*With interest built on years unseen*
*Future's brighter than it's been*
*Trust your son who seems so changed*
*Time's a gift that's been exchanged*
*Between the boy you've always known*
*And the man who's found his way home*
The kitchen clock blinked midnight, marking another day's transition in our new timeline. Outside, the Bronx continued its nocturnal percussion, a rhythm unchanged by temporal manipulation. Ma reached across the table again, her touch bridging past and future.
"Eat your dinner," she said softly. "Cold or not. Some things don't change."
I smiled, knowing she was both right and wrong. Everything was changing, but her love remained constant – the true north by which I navigated through time's waters. I picked up my fork, tasting the food she'd prepared in two different futures, while tomorrow waited patiently for its cue.