So I’ll keep the umbrella. And every time it rains, I’ll think of the old man running through the storm with open arms.
But here’s the thing. Yesterday, I went back to "La Scuar". The old man with the newspaper was still there. Same glasses, same slippers. And I asked him: “Do you remember a grey umbrella, left here one rainy Tuesday, five years ago?”
That’s when I saw it. Leaning against the coat rack. Unclaimed. A bit sad, like a stray dog waiting for someone to notice it.
Do you ever hold onto something for so long that you forget it was never yours to begin with?
I laughed. Then I almost cried.