Pangs of Love and Regret

I didn’t forgive him. I shouldn’t. But when I decided, I couldn’t

There it is, on his nightstand, lying the symbol of love-our engagement ring. I had thrown this 24-carat symbol of love to his face a few days back. It had happened in the heat of the moment, a little hasty behavior, but the right one.

I fled the house, leaving him stranded with the ring laying on the floor. My attitude baffled him. I drove in my car as fast and long as I could. I didn’t know how far I drove. With the rage running through my veins, I couldn’t recall what I did. When I came back, the house was no longer the same. He was no longer the same.

***

He is laying on the couch with his face pointing to the ceiling. His breathing sounded heavy and his eyes are closed. I couldn’t say whether he was tired or upset, but this was his routine in recent days. He no longer looked dapper. His unshaven face, swollen red eyes are testament he is learning from his mistake. To understand pain, one should go through the same.

We are not on talking terms anymore. He deserves retribution for what he did. When I found out he was deceiving me again, I could take it no longer. Honesty defines love, and he crushed that perimeter long ago. We never tried to patch things up. Actually, he never tried to. Let’s see how long he could carry his ego.

***

Tears are trickling out from his closed eyes, and out of the blue, he started crying. He stood up suddenly and scurried across me, without giving a glance. His ego is enormous than his suffering. He opened his wardrobe, took out the engagement ring. He cried hard and aloud this time.

I could no longer witness my man, my love, crying. My forgiveness could end his suffering. I wanted to run and hug him, hold him against my chest. He is my man, after all.

“Damn!, this crazy love. It has weakened me,” I cursed myself.

Right in front of my eyes, he trudged to his writing desk, took out the pen and paper, started scribbling on a white sheet. A broad smile appeared on my face. He always does that. He used to write letters to me in our early days of love life. It was a poem, a note of love, and sometimes even an apology. I suddenly feel strange. Now, I love him more than before. I promised myself I wouldn’t do this to him again, but he shouldn’t lie to me ever.

He wrapped the letter, came darting towards me. But instead of handing over the letter, he brushed me off and walked out of the house. My self-respect urged me to stay. Let him suffer for long. But I ran outside, following him.

His hands clutched the letter tightly. He strode along the park, heading towards this weird place.

“What is he doing here?”, I muttered to myself and tried not to lose his sight.

When he finally reached his location, he kneeled on the grass and burst into tears. He cried and cried until his tears went dry. His hands trembled against the letter and he placed it before the grave. With tremendous pain and effort, he took off.

I ran to the grave after he was out of sight. I grabbed the letter, opened it, and read through it.

“I am sorry for everything. I miss you. Please come back!”

After seeing the grave, my legs buckled, and I landed on my knees.

There was my name engraved on the tile.

Now it is too late to forgive him.

***

He was right, my driving was not safe after all.

***