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Description
unfrozen, stepping out of the plexiglass chamber. icy. the medics attend him. soon a reporter knocking at the glass of the observation room, then a slew of camera flashes. steps out, answers the questions. the world is abuzz. newspapers, radio shows, all the media, alive. he's alive.
how old is he? it had been ten years. but how old did that make him? thirty-two, now? or twenty-two just the same? the same as when he had bashed through the line of applicants for this chance, this one chance to escape the life of yesterday, to enter this life of tomorrow? perhaps only a day had passed. perhaps a million years; perhaps an eternity.
looks for love. what? he didn't know what it was before, but now...now....

this new generation, is there something missing
something that has died out, a string that had been cut since i was put under the cold saltwater, a lost chord from their hearts?
relatives, they seem so old, don't they? those wrinkles, those wrinkled faces
funny how when you see something every day for your entire life it never seems to change. like an adolescent in the mirror scrutinizing his stature. but whatever familiarity i'd had, that was soaked into those wrinkles over the years like a sponge, has run; has evaporated
experience
experiences that they've had. ten years worth. that's what they're hidden behind. and i cannot bridge that gap now; i cannot jump the chasm of time in the opposite direction; i cannot fill myself with whatever they've been filled with. do i want to?
no...
but would it be better than this desertion? this abandonment; this feeling of being a young soul among younger ones, and of the disconnect from the older ones? perhaps.

Description
unfrozen, stepping out of the plexiglass chamber. icy. the medics attend him. soon a reporter knocking at the glass of the observation room, then a slew of camera flashes. steps out, answers the questions. the world is abuzz. newspapers, radio shows, all the media, alive. he's alive.
how old is he? it had been ten years. but how old did that make him? thirty-two, now? or twenty-two just the same? the same as when he had bashed through the line of applicants for this chance, this one chance to escape the life of yesterday, to enter this life of tomorrow? perhaps only a day had passed. perhaps a million years; perhaps an eternity.
looks for love. what? he didn't know what it was before, but now...now....

this new generation, is there something missing
something that has died out, a string that had been cut since i was put under the cold saltwater, a lost chord from their hearts?
relatives, they seem so old, don't they? those wrinkles, those wrinkled faces
funny how when you see something every day for your entire life it never seems to change. like an adolescent in the mirror scrutinizing his stature. but whatever familiarity i'd had, that was soaked into those wrinkles over the years like a sponge, has run; has evaporated
experience
experiences that they've had. ten years worth. that's what they're hidden behind. and i cannot bridge that gap now; i cannot jump the chasm of time in the opposite direction; i cannot fill myself with whatever they've been filled with. do i want to?
no...
but would it be better than this desertion? this abandonment; this feeling of being a young soul among younger ones, and of the disconnect from the older ones? perhaps.