You have a knack for turning your eyes inside out, so you see them. And they see you. And you're afraid, because they're from the uncreated future, from a place, I think, where the human race has reached its last incarnation, from the end of the material world. Perhaps the end of all worlds. And they're sad-melancholy is the better word-because you're like an angel to them, the angel of the past, the angel of infinite possibility. Possibility lost. The road not taken.