“It hurts, doesn’t it?” She
stared into the horizon, looking away from my steady gaze.
“Yes, yes it does…” I answered
slowly and softly, “It does… It simply does.”
With no further addition, words
echoed around me. The sound reflected itself to me, ringing in my ears as if
they were endless halls reverberating and returning those very words. It makes
me think. A lot. At most times, it keeps me overthinking. To and fro I go, I
thought I have moved on. But then again I find myself, back to square one, at
the identical spot and on the same ground. Moving on was easy, it’s the keeping
moved on that’s hard.
“What hurts?”
My logical self asked gently so
as not to shock my very troubled mind. “What hurts?” gently it echoed again. It
were as of the heart had listened and heard, it answered, “What doesn’t kill
you does.”
…
It is now the last quarter of the
year, and it seems that time has not been very kind.
It is clear that she had me in
the summer. Too hard and too fast. When the sun was high, when the sand clung
to our feet, while the summer breeze softly caressed her hair, while the shore
whispered against the skyline. And let me not fail to mention, her shy smile
while she was under a simple shade. I’ll never get tired of that smile.
Come fall, I’ve fallen. Too fast
and too intense. Irrationality has possessed me partially and sadness locked me
in its embrace. Blame me, for I rushed things. While the branches remain
glooming and undisturbed, the stone walls towering over me reminding me of the
promised final tear. It was shed, and what feels like a lifetime ago, was only
a few weeks ago.
Now, my dear. As I have said
earlier, it is now the last quarter of the year. We all know what comes next.
“Winter is coming.” Ned Stark was right after all. I’m heeding his words, I’m
bracing myself. I am now here, and you are nowhere to be found. It won’t kill
me, but it will hurt much. So yes, I am bracing myself, for I think that my
coldest winter is about to come.
…
“What didn’t kill you?”
The sadness. The sorrow. The
suffering. All the rue. Crushed hopes. Expectations that were never met. Dashed
dreams. Unreciprocated actions. One sided talks. And all the many unfortunate
complicatedness love brought.
When you told me to let go, I
didn’t. Why? For the reason that I wanted to fight. Fight for my belief that
there will be an us. Fight against all odds of not having you. Fight to prove
that I am right. But here I am, proven wrong by the very person I loved. It is
me who didn’t want to go down without giving it all. I went toe to toe with
emotional blows, and stayed on my feet when some of it landed. In the end I
realized, how much of a living paradox I have become.
As paradoxical as I might sound,
I’m sure about one thing though.
I’m not much of a lover, but I
sure am a damn good fighter.
…
After a long while, the pain
simply goes its own way. Looking back to where it has trodden, I see rubble of
bits and pieces. From there I rebuild. Slowly. No rushing this time. Every once
in a while, under all those messed up bits and pieces, I find lessons. Lessons
to keep close. Because every now and then, pain pays a visit and comes knocking
at my heart’s door.
Oft times it doesn’t even knock,
it just kicks the door open. Only those lessons can keep the door bolted and
locked. Let me not be cold, dissatisfied and snatched away and be filled by
bitterness. My thanks is still yours. For it was you who made it happen, for it
to dawn on me.
That what hurts is what doesn’t
kill me.
And that what doesn’t kill me,
really does make me stronger.
