It’s a cruel scene, a tragedy to feel such a way, for a woman to experience a ruing pain. I’ve never felt so broken and betrayed, never sobbed so recklessly that my lungs could barely breathe. They asked about love and the meaning of it, and I truly believed I had it, that I was in love with a man that I would do anything for, feeling it travel through my bones and awaken my soul, captivate my mind and define the reason for existing. I desired to live in the solace, in his solace forever. I was enthralled by our togetherness, breathing in these moments of what I thought was intentional love, engulfed in his soul that lit up walls of a blue house, a blanket enveloping mine.

But when he destroyed the peace, the happiness I once conveyed, something struck; a sharp knife twisting its blade in a wound, drawing thick rivers of blood from my delicate body, a now disheveled corpse. I didn’t know losing someone that way could feel so deadly, losing a man could cause that much grief. My eyes became glazed with gray, and I kept looking at the blank wall above me, numb inside, irrevocably vacant. I held on tightly to the rope as it dangled from a far ceiling, mocking me as I attempted to erase the notion that I fell wholeheartedly for this man, with feet firmly planted on the gravel.

And he’s, of course, doing just fine, no longer dying of guilt, now moving past us and accepting his defeat when he never fought the battle. Unfortunately, the chance of both of us crossing each other’s paths at least once our lives, which have taken their own direction, is almost quite impossible, or at least, fairly low. And there will be a time when we will never see each other again, where Time forgets to cease itself in moments and continue to tick. He will be lost in a memory that is now relatively an old dream, and so will I, knowing he’ll have children of his own, a son or daughter or both, a wife, marry a woman who accepts and loves all, living on the outskirts of a town surrounded by Nature’s breathing ground, in a country where culture flourishes agriculture, in a home that encompasses a garden of fresh fruits and vegetables, and blooming flowers in Spring.

But that woman will never be me, that life will never be mine, and I, well…I will never be his. The woman he once had will be living an unknown life, with unknown people, among unknown places.

And he will never know what becomes of her…like he wishes he did.