Time has always seemed boundless to me, much like how laughter ripples in our classrooms long after the bell sounds or how, at seventeen, summer afternoons appear to go on forever.
But it isn’t. Time is a currency, and I learned too late how carelessly I spent mine.
When you’re young, you think hours are disposable. You waste them scrolling, daydreaming, waiting for someone to notice you. I wasted mine on wishes—small, stupid ones at first. A better grade. A lighter day. A smile from someone who barely knew my name.
Until he did.
Funny how a single person can make you gamble with things you can’t ever take back. He wasn’t even supposed to matter—sharp-tongued, insufferable, too clever for his own good. But the fact that he listened was enough to keep me wishing, even if it meant gradually losing who I was.
If I could put it simply, I’d say this: I borrowed tomorrow just to feel alive today.
And if you asked me if it was worth it—
I’d still say yes.
Even if it cost me everything.
YOU ARE READING
The Borrowed Tomorrow
RomanceLove isn't measured in years, but in the hours you're willing to lose.
