Borrowed Time

Borrowed Time

It was his third visit in as many days. That alone made him my sole regular visitor. Although his ever-present grin unsettled me during every visit, we knew each other from long ago. Was he at that traffic light in my childhood too? I am not sure. But I remember him well from that day at the beach, some forty years ago.

I guess it makes him a long-time friend? Somewhat unwanted, comfortable but unwanted, yet still a friend… or dare I call him just an acquaintance? He’s a nice enough bloke; albeit unsettling on those occasions he drops by.

His challenge has been always the same, voiced soft and with a somewhat sobering silkiness. “Will you choose?”, he lisped yet again. My answer was always been the same too: “Choose what?” It was not intended to be argumentative. One does not argue with him about anything. No, I merely never had a clue what I should choose.

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