ErosionsTime has painted us differently. His features have been etched carefully. He has delicate laughter lines around his mouth and eyes; dots and dashes of grey in his thick blond hair; eyes, although a fraction paler, are still a bright, sparkling blue. I, on the other hand, have been coarsely decorated. Thick streaks of grey run through my thinning dark hair; my once chocolate eyes are now a dull, muddy brown; my wrinkles deep and my jowls low. He’s waiting for me at the table in the corner. Waiting for my twenty-year old self, my best social media self, but that’s not who he’ll be getting. I take one last look and walk to the nearest bus stop.
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