She had it since forever.

I saw you blink, once. It wasn’t a long time ago, maybe a decade. Your eyelids, covered with green eyeshadow, came down slowly, calmly shutting your eyes in. What a peculiar thing, I thought. Does she not realize that each moment is precious. Does she not realize that even a single blink can result in missed things. But I was foolish then, one of those people who claimed that they’ll try everything once.

We ran out of the house early in the morning; the sun had barely time to peek over the horizon. “Tell me, do you think we have time to stop for a coffee?” I asked. “I’m afraid, no. No, I don’t think we do.” said you – you – you were right. What was I thinking, those pictures, and especially that silver watch, never crossed my mind again. But I insisted, and so we stopped. Even back then you were always ready for compromise. “We’ll only stop to get coffee, if you get something to eat, too.”

You didn’t eat breakfast, but you did endorse it. You wanted me to be at my best. While I chowed down on something, I don’t even remember what it was, you looked at your silver watch, a present from your dead mother. You were eager to move on, but willing to wait, for my sake. I asked you, “Why do you still keep that thing, didn’t you say it was broken?” “No, no, I don’t think I was talking about this one. This is the one my mother gave me, remember.” you answered. “Yes, I remember. But I also remember you telling me that it was broken. And that you hated it.”

“I do hate it. I hate silver. But it was my mother’s. She had it since forever, I’m not going to throw it out. And no I never said that it was broken. You must have dreamt it again.” Even now I distinctly remember you putting it on in the bedroom. You looked at it and claimed it was broken. I was hovering over the bed, changing into a badger, and changing back. Now that I think about it, it might have been a dream. You look at your watch again. “Alright, I’m done. Let’s go.” I say, knowing that it was what you were eager to hear.

We rush down a populated street, people on both sides yelling out prices and names of things. Some might be selling fish, others tickets to the afterlife. One can’t really tell, they all seem to blend into each other, like meat in a grinder. There happens to be a camera crew filming as we run through the mess. We were holding hands, you in your long coat, me in my sweater. We looked liked parents.

A couple of years later a friend of mine sent me the pictures. He had come across the film somewhere, some documentary had used the footage of that day. He had printed the shots we were in – pictures of us, holding hands, running down a street. You in your green hat, and me in my ancient shoes. You probably don’t remember the music. Neither do I. They must have added it later.

But like I said, those things never crossed my mind again, neither the silver watch, nor the pictures. You had your eyes closed in one of them – you blinked.

-Jakob Lint