117 times we'd met.
Since then, every day for a year, I returned to this same bar, but he hasn’t come back. And now it’s time.
The first time, he just appeared beside me, smiling. He said people stared at me out of awe, pointed out of jealousy.
We talked. He was my confessional, friend, counsellor. He explained to me why I would do these terrible things.
He said, there are no consequences, we are all just leaves in a wicked wind. All action is meaningless, he said.
I miss him now. He was my other half. But it’s time.