[ WP ] You ride the elevator up to your apartment every day , browsing your phone / reading a book the whole way , not noticing what floor you 're on until it stops . Today it just keeps going .

Walking into the elevator, I pulled out my phone just like I did every other day before. The ride up was always long, and the distraction was a nice way to pass through the emptiness. Something was different about my phone; I could n't quite put my finger on it. My touches and swipes were n't responding, but it was navigating regardless. It was as if someone else were controlling it. 
 
 I closed my eyes and let out a deep breath. It had been a long day and I had n't gotten enough sleep as usual. It seemed my eyes were playing tricks on me. Upon opening them, an impossible video was playing. 
 
 Eyes wide opened, I stared into my phone to see myself as a child being pushed on a swing set by mother. I remembered that day. It was the first warm day after a long cold winter and my mom surprised me with a trip to the park. The sun was shining and the cool breeze from swinging made a satisfying contrast to the balmy air around us. But it was impossible. Nobody recorded us that day. How did it get on my phone? 
 
 I pressed the home button, but it did n't exit the video feed. Instead, it switched to another event. After paying for my lunch in the campus-dining hall, I looked around for an empty table. My eyes locked with a girl, who was sitting alone. Her inviting smile knocked away any hesitation and I walked over and asked if I could join her. That was the day I met my wife, Hannah. 
 
 It occurred to me the elevator was still rising. I did n't remember it taking that long. My eyes shot up to the floor readout to find it was stuck on 65. The number was stuck, but I was still moving. My building only had 30 floors. 
 
 Looking back at my phone, I found a half-written text message telling Hannah I'd be home soon, but I was stuck in traffic. It suddenly began playing another video. This time, Hannah and I were sitting on the beach watching the waves crash against the shoreline. I remember looking into her eyes and knowing everything was going to be OK.
