Do you believe in magic? I don’t remember if I ever asked you that before. I do. Even if you haven’t experienced it, seen it or touched, know this, it’s out there. I know, I saw it. Like a portal opened from another reality, I want to believe this portal showed me the future, yours. It has to happen over the most trivial routine to stand out; that’s how you spot it. That’s how I did. 

I was in my favourite Vietnamese restaurant, the same franchise we used to go in Chiswick. You won’t have those memories yet but we always went there because of the affordable prices and the great music. I was having the prawn soup, the one that I always order, the one that makes my nose leak. I was facing the window, the street, that’s when I saw you. The coriander scent of the place calmed my sudden shock. Tears rolled uncontrollably and splattered on the chilli broth. How was that possible? Across the street I saw you. Deep down I knew it couldn’t possibly be you, you. I mean, they called me in the middle of the night and I rushed out of bed. They called so I could identify your remains. I held your hand in that morgue, its coldness froze over my guts and, even now, I still feel it in my bones. 

But how? Somehow you were there across the road. You wore your so beloved dark blue jacket and jeans. I’d bet an arm and a leg that right now, if you’re reading this, you’re wearing that exact outfit. You looked different though, like you lost at least 20 kg. I spotted the wrinkles around your eyes, all over from my safe hidden spot. I was well protected behind those restaurant windows so you never noticed I was looking. Your high cheekbones were the main attraction on that skeletal face; that’s when I realised I was looking at your future self. 

I let my tears overflow my eyes. I couldn’t look away. You were standing in the busy Covent Garden street with an empty coffee cup receiving the passerby and tourists change. People were generous, or so I thought, as you disappeared after a short while of begging. I blew my nose and then I couldn’t see you anymore. You were gone, like a ghoul, gone before you realise it was there at all. I paid, then left the place and stood outside, waiting and hoping to catch another glimpse of you. I didn’t quite know what I was expecting. I felt terrible. I couldn’t help but feel guilty, like it was all my fault. If only I had never left you. If only I had fought for you. Fought for us. I’ve been haunted by those thoughts for more than a year now. More or less the same time I left. Maybe I should have been stronger for us. Maybe I should have been more helpful with your addictions. Regardless of all those therapies and support groups I went to, I still feel responsible for you, after all, we made a vow. But I couldn’t keep the ‘For Better or For Worse’ promise. I was afraid of you. I wish I was braver. I wish I had never left you. I wish I’d never met you.

I was just about to leave, then suddenly I saw you again, walking towards me, looking right through me; like I wasn’t even there. But this time you weren’t holding an empty coffee cup anymore, you were now holding a can of lager. I followed the ghost of you. I don’t know why, but I did. My legs just carried me and I went along. My body was acting by itself. My heart was numb and my brain was beating itself up.

I bumped into a bearded old man, “I’m sorry,” I apologised on automatic, although my apology wasn’t enough; his rage fueled his sight and he looked at me as if he wanted to stab my soul with his gaze. He grabbed my arm with such a grip that I thought he’d break it.

“This needs to stop,” he thundered.

“I beg your pardon? Do I know you?” I was confused. Never in my life had I seen this old man before.

“You are making things worse! That is not who you think it is.”

“Who is it then? Who are you?”

“You must stop this endless loop.” The bearded man let go of my arm and I felt my heart beating rapidly.

“My partner is dead,” I whispered. “I have the piece of newspaper to prove it.” I rummaged through the pocket of my satchel bag and took out an outdated calendar. I opened to the date of 15 of September where a folded, corrugated paper was stored. From this moment on, things became blurry, as when you swim underwater with your eyes open. I unfolded the paper to see the old news. I knew that article by heart, I read it every night before bed.’London Underground Disrupted’. It wasn’t sensationalism; it only stated that there would be an enquiry to identify if the person jumped or was pushed. However, this time when I unfolded that well-kept piece of newspaper, it was blank. This time the paper didn’t describe how hundreds of angry commuters were late to work that morning. Absolutely nothing. At first, I thought it had got so old that the ink had simply faded, but that possibly couldn’t be; the night before it was as good as new.

“But how?” I looked up and the old man was still there. Perhaps he took pity on me as his expression wasn’t so severe anymore.

“This is why you need to stop this loophole. You must let him go.”

“I don’t understand. Why isn’t the news printed anymore?”

“Because of you; because of these letters you’ve been writing!”

You see, when I let go of your lifeless hand in that morgue, I felt as if an invisible gigantic hand had pulled my guts out. If you’ve ever been punched in the stomach, that’s how it feels like. I knew that from that moment on, I’d have to live with a massive emptiness inside. My carcass heading to work, doing the grocery shopping, the daily commute; the only difference would be that this black hole would continue to suck any emotion out of me. The grief was like a disease so ingrown in my very core, that I knew I’d have to cease to exist to get rid of it. I was then referred to a bereavement support association. They tried to help me deal with my loss. They suggested to write letters and so I did.

I wrote letters directed to you. The writing helped me express my feelings, taking them out of my system. As my wrist moved and my fingers held the pen, calligraphing each word, my body felt lighter as if the heavy burden became more bearable. These words held the strength of each of my emotions, the sentences and statements became powerful. Real entities. They all have this casual conversational tone, like I’m talking to you, like we used to do when you were sober. This is why they became so dangerous, they looked harmless but held my very self. They held knowledge and knowledge is the most powerful thing anyone can ever hold. Like everything else, the letters started from the beginning; that unholy night when I met you. When I walked towards you and I looked at your eyes and said “your next pint is on me,” what a kamikaze mission I’ve got myself into. I thought I could hold my drink and so confidently I tried to drink as much as you did. Little did I know, little did I remember. I treasure the glimpses, pints, laughs, jagerbombs, blackout. I woke up in your toilet floor with nothing but a towel around me. 

“Listen child,” the exasperated old man said. “Things have a natural order. Things happen for a reason. Things get complicated. And sometimes, not always, actually so very, extremely rarely there are glitches.”

“Glitches?”

“There was a malfunction.” The man sighed for what felt like an eternity, as if his life was leaving his body through his mouth.

“Where?” I asked.

“In time,”    

“What?”

“Time had a malfunction, right here. Yesterday. I came to that alley to verify my suspicious and I saw you. I’m getting old, look at my hands. I’ve got distracted.” 

There was an alley, between the restaurant and the pub, a small entrance to some mews; you blink and you miss it. I only see it when I want to see it.

“Who are you?”

“Are we actually going through this again?” he said and started to count the bricks on the wall. 

Do you know that feeling when you see a face and it’s really bothering you, because you can’t remember where you have seen it before? You try really hard, but you just can’t quite remember. Well, that’s what the old man made me feel. Anxious, desperately trying to remember where I’d seen him before. I’m sure I had.

“I’m certain I wasn’t here yesterday, I was, hang on…Where was I?”

“There, you feel it? A loop.”

“I didn’t feel anything,”

“That’s because your letters are causing them.”

“Why on earth can’t I remember any of these things you’re saying?”

“It’s obvious, child. You gave me those memories. You can’t remember something you don’t have.” He scoffed as if what he said was actually evident and, by the way he explained it, it did sound obvious.

“Why would I give you all my memories?”

“Not all of them, just the ones that could alter the past. You gave them because that was the price.”

“Price? Did I buy something from you?”

“Time.” He had a small sandbag. As he put it down on the floor, the sandbag was actually as big and wide as a barrel.

“How did you do that?”

“Argh, again, the same questions.” He rolled his eyes and produced a pocket watch from his scruffy waistcoat

“Well, at least I’m consistent. Can you tell me who are you? Please?”

“Tell, tell, tell. It’s not about telling, it’s about showing.” The man leaned forward to where the sandbag was and moved his hands; he moved them fast but it seemed as if they were moving in slow motion. He spoke, or I thought he did. Perhaps it was a foreign language, because I didn’t understand anything he said. Although, I didn’t recognise what other language he could have possibly spoken. It sounded as if he had a ball of cat hair on his throat and after much effort he managed to spit something out with his teeth. That was how he sounded. 

The sandbag strings untangled themselves and let me see what was inside. It felt to my eyes what you feel when you wake up in the middle of the night and turn a light on. Brightness struck my sight and I immediately stepped backwards, but my back was stopped by the wall. When my eyes got used to the light, I realised I was looking at darkness, as dark as a starless night. A sandbag full of black matter. The more I looked, the more I saw. As I leaned forward I noticed small, twinkly dots appearing across that black space. It was like I was looking at galaxies forming in front of my eyes. I wanted to look closer, the beauty of the constellations invited me in. For that brief moment, I didn’t feel my own void inside me, in fact, it felt like the void found its home and it was time to join those stars in a far away universe.

“Oi, you don’t want to fall into that,” I heard a whisper. I felt something pulling me back from my right shoulder. I looked away and remembered where I was and with whom I was with.

“What is it?” 

“‘When’ might be a more precise question. I am The Guardian of Time and I, well; I guard time but you can call me Tem. Around this north hemisphere people pronounce it Tim. I mean, they would, if they knew me, of course. ”

“Why are you showing this to me, Tem?”

“I’m old, child. I’m bored, mostly alone. Did you look at my hands? You remind me of a very special someone.”

“I get that a lot,” I sighed. 

The Guardian of Time gently placed his calloused, winkled hands into the sandbag and took what looked like black sand out, at least that’s how it felt when he placed some in my hands. I tried to ask what to do with it, but my questions, thoughts and anguish dissipated by the smooth sway of the black sand in my hands. I held a black ocean, its little waves came and went in the immensity of my palms. Within the sand, I saw a small version of myself in the same spot I was standing. My head rubbing the bricks of the wall. I found this tunnel heading to the mews and hid there for a cry. Although, I couldn’t remember I did that yesterday because my memory was taken away. I knew the feeling that made me run to hidden places to let it all out. I’ve been doing it for over a year now. Like a sneezing fit you can’t control when the little, fluffy pollen floats gently in the summer breeze. An external stimuli comes crashing down your stability. Unintentional. Harmless yet lethal. They come, silent, in all sizes and shapes, like a song or a scent, even a place. As a downpour of grief. 

I saw my yesterday self counting bricks, slowly and effortlessly. Counting exercises are always good to relax, I guess that’s why everybody counts sheep to fall asleep. I saw a small version of Tem walking behind my yesterday self and he asked “Are you looking for something?” I saw my small self jump and look back. I wasn’t expecting someone to talk to me. No one ever talks to you, especially if you look so hurt.

“I’m managing some sorrow and guilt,” I saw my yesterday self saying.

“You don’t manage sorrow,” he scoffed. “You dive in grief, swim across it, splash in it and then you come to the surface and leave it behind. That’s how it should be handled.” He took out his pocket watch and let it swing in front of my face. “Very interesting,” he said. “I will help you.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Child, I’m bored and old. Besides your face reminds me of a very fond acquaintance of mine.”

I saw myself attempting to chuckle and said, “I get that a lot.” 

“Very well then, hand over the letters you have in your belongings.”

“Wait, what? How do you know about my letters?”

“When you get my age you learn one or two tricks.”

I saw my small image opening the hidden pocket in the satchel you gave me four Christmases ago. I retrieved what could have been dozens of folded pieces of paper and reluctantly handed them over to the old man. He shuffled them as if they were playing cards but without even touching them. After a while, all of them flew right back into my hand, except one piece of paper that kept floating in mid-air.

“We have a winner,” he said, holding the letter. “What if I told you that I can get this letter delivered to the right time to make a difference?”

I took the letter from his chubby hands and scanned it briefly. “I’d say, let’s do it.” 

“Ok, child. You have to say what I say. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” I heard my little self saying. I saw how I placed the other letters back to their safe pocket.

“Come What May,” he said. His left hand was above his sandbag. With his right hand he held my letter in front of my face.

“Come What May,” I repeated.

“Through Timeless Day,”

“Through Timeless Day,”

“Find Your Lover,”

“Find Your Lover,”

“Do Not Dismay.”

“Do Not Dismay.” When I finished repeating what the man told me, a gentle wind rocked the letter, as if the air was nursing the folded paper, rocking it back and forth; heading gently into the sandbag. It faded away into nothingness. 

As the letter disappeared so did the black sand in my hands. All of a sudden I was just looking at my empty palms. “Was that the memory I gave you yesterday?”

“Yes.”

“Did he actually read the letter?” I gathered some words after awhile. 

“Yes he did,” he rolled his eyes.

“You didn’t expect it to work in the first place. Did you?”

“Of course I didn’t!”

“So why would you risk it?”

“Boredom, I guess. I’m easily amazed though. Besides, I needed to retrieve something from this wall you were using to calm you down. So I thought that’d be the fastest way to get rid of you. Call yourself lucky, in the olden days, when I was stronger, I could have just chucked you in my sandbag and you’d be flouting among universes. But you see, not even I can cheat time; in fact, it has done to me what it does to everything. I’m now all squishy, a softy and old.”

“What do you need to get from this wall?”

“I’m going to say what all you youngsters say, none of your beeswax,” he coughed although it could have been an embarrassed laugh.

“I don’t say that.” I sighed. I was starting to get tired of the ‘dad’s jokes’ this old person, Tem was trying to pull off. “What happened then?” I asked.

“I underestimated your power.”

“I don’t have any power.”

“Ha! You see, that my friend, is the exact problem. You’re as common as the common cold…—”

“Thanks, mate.”

“—yet your dull letter managed to squeeze through the glitch of time. Straight to your lover’s suicidal hands. He read it and panicked. He didn’t go out that day nor the following seven.”

“What became of him then?”

“Well, you know, he’s an addict, so like any druggie, they either die, they’re locked up or become homeless.”

“And my partner already cheated death so..” I thought for a moment trying to follow your tracks. Then I asked, “the beggar I saw earlier. Was that my, ….my partner?”

“It was only a vision of your other half’s future self, so yes, sort of.”

“How could I see a vision of the future?”

“The glitch has been following you because you’re the owner of the object which disrupted the natural order of time.”

“Alive! Where is my loved one?”

“I don’t know. Do I look like the ‘Lost and Found’ department?”

“We found each other once before. We’ll do it again.” I walked away from the mews’ entrance.

“Stop writing letters, child.”

“Goodbye, Tem,” I smirked at him and left.

I was certain I met The Guardian of Time and that my letter saved your life, I had the piece of blank newspaper to prove that it didn’t happen. Yet I couldn’t find you anywhere. You weren’t in your flat anymore. All of your friends looked at me like I was mad, asking for a dead person. 

I saw your future self and it wasn’t good, I needed to find you to let you know all about it. I couldn’t bear the idea of you sleeping rough. An actual month passed and it was like earth swallowed you whole. Nothing, you were nowhere. 

There I was, anxiety replaced my grief. I was determined. I did what worked before. I tried again. I wrote this letter. I leave all the love I have for you on each word I write. I give my hope to this piece of paper to reach your timeless destination. The old man, Tem mentioned that he needed to retrieve something from that wall; it must have some of his magic. I’m heading there now and I will whisper to it. I will repeat the words I’ve been humming for this whole month while searching:

‘Come What May,

Through Timeless Day,

Find Your Lover,

Do Not Dismay.’

If it works it means that this letter will find your sixteen-year-old self. If it worked and you’re reading this right now, it means that you had glimpses of your future. I hope this story about you can help you choose life; an eventful one, filled with joy and all the rest.

If you’re actually holding this letter know that I love you and I wish you a peaceful journey in this world. If I wake up tomorrow without this ingrown grief within, without any memory of you in me, it will mean that we’ll both have another chance to walk on a kinder path.