The Circle of Life

A strong wind bends the branches. Any moment now, the rain will pour down. I don’t feel like going outside, so I lounge around a bit.

“I wish I could turn back time! I would change so many things!” I think to myself as a stream of  thoughts involuntarily drifts into my childhood.

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I’m running after her across a blooming meadow. She laughs and zigzags away. I grab her hand, but  she slips away. She stops only at the lake.

“You didn’t catch me!” she declares triumphantly.

“That doesn’t count, you had a big head start,” I say, gasping for air.

“Excuses,” she laughs.

“Let’s try again.”

“No! Not anymore. Let’s just talk for a while,” she says, wrapping a strand of blonde hair around her  finger.

“About what?” I ask, uncertain.

“Do you like me?” Her face lights up with a stunning smile.

“Well...,” I feel my cheeks flush.

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The memory of her smile pulls me back to reality. I berate myself for all the things I didn’t do. I decide to take a short walk despite the bad weather. I want to “buy” a little time. A breeze carries the scent of forget-me-nots. It reminds me of a woman who flashed through my life like lightning.

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She stands on the edge of a rainforest, adjusting her long blonde hair. Her blue eyes capture every glance I can muster. To step into the world of fairies and pick a few forget-me-nots is blocked by the wall of reality. The battle of questions and answers with my senses is brief. Everything has been said, but not everything has been heard. Her heart sways to a melody, mine beats in rhythm. They were not meant to dance together.

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So many missed opportunities! Where could I have been? What could I have achieved? I curse my  ambitions.

“There wasn’t enough time for everything!” my wounded pride argues.

Yes! Its scarcity is to blame for everything! I’ll buy at least twenty-two years! I check my wallet and  quicken my pace.

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The shop is bursting at the seams. I stand in a long line of waiting people, focusing on making sure no  one cuts ahead of me. Around me, street vendors loudly hawk their time.

“Young man, would you like to buy? I have fifteen minutes,” an elderly woman offers.

“Certainly not! I can’t even...,” I think, shaking my head. I stubbornly refuse other offers for hours or  days.

“I need years!” I fix my gaze on the approaching entrance to the shop.

“Good day! How much time do you need, sir?” asks the cashier.

“I’d need at least twenty-two years,” I state my wish, quickly calculating in my head whether that  would suffice.

“Well, that’s quite a lot!” she smiles.

“I still have so much to do.”

“Wait a moment, I’ll check if we have that in stock. Please fill out this questionnaire, especially the section on how you plan to use the time, and down here as well,” she hands me some papers.

“What is this?! The time shop doesn’t have enough time?” I think and fill out the application for free time.

It feels like it’s taking too long, and I look around angrily. My gaze meets a sea of surprised faces.

“Unfortunately, we can’t sell you that much time,” the cashier adds fuel to my simmering frustration.

“Excuse me, I waited in line! I turned down countless offers! And now you tell me you don’t have any?!” I feel my cheeks flush.

“Please understand, time is usually purchased by the Unripe, and according to your questionnaire, you’re long past your prime,” she says, tapping the paper with her finger.

“That’s exactly why I need time!” I shout.

“Calm down, sir,” she soothes me.

“Hey, don’t hold us up! We want to buy something too,” a voice calls out behind me.

“I’m going to file a complaint!” I try to threaten.

“Go ahead, if you think it will lead to something. It’s your time,” she says as she drops my questionnaire into a box labeled The Mature.

“Mature? What am I mature for?!”

She leans closer and whispers, “You’re ready to move on.”

“Move on to where?!” I exclaim, throwing up my hands.

“You probably don’t understand. We sell time mostly to those who haven’t yet learned how to live. They keep coming back, buying days, hours, or years. They don’t appreciate it, don’t reflect, and they complain. They rely on stocked supplies, yet fail to use what’s already on the shelves. But you don’t need time anymore,” she explains with a smile.

I shake my head in confusion.

“Try that house on the corner with the circles on it. They’ll tell you more there. I have other customers to attend to,” she gestures toward a curly-haired young man and moves on.

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“Good day,” a petite woman greets me.

“Good day, I’m not sure if I’m in the right place, but...”

“You’ll see for yourself soon enough. How many circles have you crossed already?” she asks with a  smile.

“Circles? I’m not quite sure what you mean.”

“I mean your maturity and the art of living,” she says, pointing to a leather couch before sitting down in a chair across from me.

“Based on my birth date, I’d say I’m mature—if not overripe,” I joke to myself.

“The art of living? I think about it often. I’d like to enjoy life more if you know what I mean,” I say as I  sit down on the couch.

“Age is just a number and has no bearing on a person’s maturity. Thinking and understanding are the path. Some have strayed from it and now crowd the time store,” she remarks wryly.

“Would you like something? Coffee?” she asks, standing up and moving to a counter.

“Yes, thank you. And... don’t you think everyone wants more time? I mean…”

“Are you referring to death?” she sets a full cup of coffee before me. I add some sugar.

“For example.”

“It’s all about the quality of life. If you’re merely existing, even an eternity won’t be enough to rid yourself of the feeling that your life was empty before the inevitable end.”

“I understand, so I should fill my life—with work, children... Is that what you mean?”

“You still don’t get it, do you? You mentioned time. I know people who can experience more in one minute than others do in years. It all depends on the details life offers at every step. Have you heard the story of two people walking across a giant apple?” she asks, pouring herself tea.

I shake my head.

“One is named I, the other You. I rushes to be the first at anything they encounter along the skin. You  doesn’t hurry, pauses, reflects, and burrows into the flesh. I never tasted its sweetness,” she  explains, squeezing a lemon into her tea.

“That’s quite a short story,” I say with a smile.

“Stories vary. For some, length matters; for others, depth,” she replies, smiling back.

“You mentioned something about circles earlier,” I stir my coffee.

“The circles of life.”

“I’ve never heard of them.”

“Every little thing we often overlook can be the beginning of a new circle. That’s the art of living, which we need to learn. Time doesn’t matter since the circles move across it. What’s important is  understanding—that’s the key to completing a circle. Once it’s closed, you can cross it and start spinning another.”

“Wait a minute, I’m lost again.”

“You need someone to guide you,” she says, quickly standing up and disappearing into the next room.

“Wait, you haven’t…” I stand up.

“Hi!” a tall blonde enters and hugs me. “Even a hug is a circle,” she says, her smile dissolving my  confusion.

“Where have I seen her before?” I wonder.

“Shall we talk?” she asks, twirling a strand of blonde hair around her finger.

“I definitely know her!” I grab her hand.

“You caught me,” she laughs.

“I smoothed and softened the memories so they wouldn’t have sharp edges. Circles and corners don’t go together, and...” she leans into me.

“I have one broken circle. What should I do with it?” I look into her eyes.

“You’ll find someone whose circle is also broken,” she says, her face lighting up with that long-sought, unforgettable smile...