Irini Miga - 2:56

2:56

It is 2:56 am, and he still has trouble sleeping.

He turns the light on and picks up the book that lies by his nightstand.

He opens it to page 56.

He always believed that accidents are somehow destiny in disguise.

The question of the previous day still twirls in his head.

He stands up and walks towards the fridge.

He realizes that the distance from his bed to the fridge is 28 steps – that equals 56 steps from his bed to the fridge and back.

Coincidence?

He always worked too much. So much that he never had time to think of himself as a distinct entity.

Yesterday, the girl at the gas station asked him if he is free on Friday.

Free on Friday?

Today is Wednesday, which is two days away from Friday.

If he could be with the girl in bed that would make it one + one = two.

He looks again at the clock that sits on top of his nightstand.

The time is 2:56 am.

Still.

That is what he does when he has time.

– Irini Miga