How many posts on heartbreaks should I write?
How many times would I endure the hurt of losing in order to find happiness?
How many times should I begged to the man that I love by saying “look, please wait for a bit, the rainbow will appear, you will see”.
When indeed, no rainbow had ever appeared so far and no man would want to wait that long.
So, here she is again, watching another love of his life (and she only had one so far), walking away from her as she waited at this very spot, waiting just, waiting for that man to turn back, perhaps to have a change of mind and remembered the strong bond that grew between them.
It was a simple love story actually. About a lonely woman in a foreign land, seeking a trusted company and found solace in the comforting words and reassuring arms of the kindest man she ever knew.
“Would you like to see a kind dwarf face this afternoon over coffee?” He said as he detected the pain of missing home and her child from her teary face. And they shared a cheap afternoon coffee by the lake, keeping one another away from the dreary world for a few minutes. And the friendship plot thickened-it blossomed into a romance that was never conventional from the start. It was the most unlikely pair of people to bump into each other but they did manage to make one another laugh and enjoy life again after a long haunting past of heartbreaks.
The stolen peck on his cheek after the excitement of discovering wild red poppies, the quiet walk by the Brighton sea, the shared laugh over a private joke in the park, the barbeque at the backyard, the borrowed jumper for the long trip to Cairo, the promise to be together as long as they can.
All that have no meaning when suddenly his lips uttered the deadly words, “We have to move on. You will get through”.
And no amount of tears that escape these tired eyes could make him turn back and said, “Perhaps you are right, perhaps the rainbow will appear after all”.
As she fight on to convince him to stay and wait for the rainbow, she could hear his foot steps fading away. He is not going to wait after all. She broke down hurt, worse then ever, knowing that she must stop fighting for an empty hope. She was even sadder to learn that he will never fight, after all. What’s left from two years of withstanding the cruelty of long distance and unbearable loneliness is a shred of cold bandage made from pieces of shattered spirit, to cleanse her wounded heart.
And yes, it is over.
END OF MONOLOGUE
EPILOGUE : One year ago.
We walked slowly by the Brighton sea, still mesmerized by the thought that we were finally together. I hold his hand and he responded with a shy but firm grip of his own. Earlier, I saw his pages of handwritten sentences, which I guessed was perhaps a compilation of his random ideas or even a story in the making from his worn out notebook.
“Are you writing a story? I didn’t know you can write stories,” I asked, full of curiosity.
He gave me that smile that always lit my day. “Uhuh, maybe”.
“Can I read it?” I asked, returning his smile with great anticipation.
“You will, one day,” He said without looking at my face.
I looked at him and hold him closer to me, pretending to evade the fast moving crowd heading towards us.
“And I will wait for that day”.