“So… what did you do?”
He sat before the inquisitor, uncertain.
“Anything?”
He thought about his life.
The moments of his past.
Hot air balloon rides, not taken.
What had he done?
“…”
He tried to speak, but was unable.
In 5th grade, he almost won a spelling bee. The word was phenomenon. He placed second.
The inquisitor was patient.
When he was seventeen, he fell in love. She was British and he was bashful. She was poised. He was imperfect.
Still, she was fond of him. Despite his flaws.
His thoughts wandered. The milky white glaze of the interior seemed to enclose around him. This increased his anxiety.
When he was twenty-four, he tried to love again.
This time, he was dashing...
Debonair.
He was travelled.
He developed a palate.
He only drank coffee expelled from Peruvian grown beans. These were french-pressed, of course.
He was sophisticated.
He had seen the world and most of its wonders.
When he met her, he assumed this would be a continuation of his life.
His assurance of forever.
Right there... Inside of her.
She was stunning.
Intelligent. Artful.
She had seen the world, too.
She wanted a life with him, but he had become fascinated by the accumulation of things.
She attempted to loosen his grasp, but he would not let go.
She would leave.
And so he decided to forgo love, for financial success.
Still
No words.
The inquisitor's patience was infinite.
More recently, he forged down the path of excess, full throttle.
But his heart did not follow.
And so he sat before his maker, unable to ascertain what he had accomplished with his life.
"I loved you so much, that I gave you the air within your lungs..."
No words.
"What did you do with my gift?"
He thought a moment longer... Still uncertain.
What will you do?
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