Thursday, April 26, 2012


               The hardest part is always the goodbye. I’ve read somewhere that goodbye is only until we meet again but that is just a bucket of lies. A goodbye undeniably takes away a piece of your heart that will never truly be replaced again. Today, I know for a fact that this goodbye will take away a bigger chunk of his hear t than mine. The guilt engulfs me like a particularly dark thought within the confines of an idle mind, intent on never allowing me to seek forgivance. If at all there’s someone willing to listen to my side of the story, for the simple need for fair judgement, this was not my choice to make. I tried to figure out an alternate way that would allow me to continue with our relationship. I honestly did. There were plainly no other workable options.
              You don’t have to necessarily point a judgemental finger at me because I already hold myself responsible. Love is a very serious commitment. Something that shouldn’t be overridden by petty issues like life and its crossroads. I knew it quite clearly when I got myself into this bond. I swore, more to myself than I did to him, that this time it was real and it felt so right. If I’ve failed miserably at giving myself a convincing explanation for my betrayal, you can rest assured that I cannot locate one for you.
              I sit here biting my quivering lip, at the station. A cool breeze brushes rudely by as if trying to slap some sense into me.  The overhead loudspeaker cackles to life and a metallic female voice announces the 7.15 train. My heart begins to race and breaks when the distant horn reaches my ears. A tear threatens to renounce my cooked-up bravery and announce my cowardice for all to see. The chug rhythm draws near as I wonder hopelessly about how he is going to take it. If walking away from someone hurts on one end of the pain spectrum, walking away for someone new, hurts on the extreme at the other. I stand waiting to administer precisely that to him.
              Another horn acknowledges m y presence and lingers a wee bit, sensing something wrong in the air around me and deducing quickly the reason behind it. I board silently and manage unsuccessfully to restrain a fat tear from dampening the lapel of my jacket. Twenty five excruciating minutes later, I alight where I always do and turn a sorrow laden face to the slender locomotive behind me.
             I won’t be making the return journey this evening. I am taking the bus to work from tomorrow. Is it just me or did the train just pull out of the station in complete silence, mourning my breaking his heart again?