She just stared, trying to absorb what I was telling her. “Let me get this straight. You think I was shoved into you because you have a thing for girls with similar names?”
“No,” I said, trying to keep from laughing. “No, that’s not it at all. I have a thing for girls with similar names because the universe was preparing me for you!”
She looked sceptical. “Preparing you?”
“Yes!”
“For me?”
“Yes, exactly!”
She sighed. “The universe does have a sick sense of humour.”
I felt my smile falter. “What…?”
She stood up. “Think about it! Yes, we’ll be together until the day you die. Then I go on, alone, again!”
“Then we make the most of what time I have, be it decades, years, or days. I don’t care!” I stood up, and stumbled.
“What is it?” she asked, concerned.
“Meditation screws up my internal clock,” I told her. “Hours can go by in seconds, minutes can take days. I have to go before I starve to death.”
“Okay,” she said, saddened. “Hold me before you go.”
I held her, and slipped back into myself.
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The Universe Has A Sick Sense Of Humour
Posted 4 months ago
The Universe Has A Sick Sense Of Humour
Posted 4 months ago
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