Time

"You know, if you met me three or four years ago, I would have been quite a different person." 

"Hm, what do you mean?" 

I looked up at him, surprised at his sudden declaration. 

"I don't know. I would have opened up less... Wouldn't have talked to you like that. More surface." 

Time had always been a recurring theme for us. 

We talked about how our paths had crossed in a few ways in the past but we never really met. I joked about how I could possibly be interacting with the "best version of you now". You, inspired by us, took on an in-depth analysis of 4.40 pm. We always concluded every scintillating conversation we had with "time will tell" in resignation and anticipation as if we were both writers and audience of our story at the same time.

And time did tell. Time told us in such a way that we could not fight it.

Time told me that this isn't home. Time told you that this couldn't be love.

Next time. Time won't have a say in this.