They said he was dying…
They said he asked about me…
I didn't go. I couldn't.
They said it was quick.
They said it was painless.
I couldn't forgive what he had done. He broke not only my heart but my very soul as well. His mother called me. She told me she had something that she thought I should have. I don't want it. She told me I didn't have a choice because it was always mine. I told her I didn't know what she was talking about nor did I care to have whatever it was. The poor woman's heart broke " I know he brought it upon himself. I know he messed up. But he's paid the price for it. Please… please my son gave his life in repentance" Her sobs tore at my shattered heart and I went over. She said nothing as she opened the door and only led me to his room.
As I entered she pointed towards a heavily damaged journal on his bed and told me that it was mine. I turned to look back and question her but she had already left. I sighed and glanced around his room. It felt so empty…so cold… I think… I think for a second I was able to forget everything and just mourn him. My tough façade broke and my face crumbled. I did not cry. My face shed no tears but still mirrored the very image of pain. Huff … Huff… the only sound was coming from my mouth as I gasped for air. I was beginning to think I was about to lose my mind. Then I remembered. I looked at the journal and walked towards the bed.
I picked up the abused book and stared at the cover. For some reason I had a strong sense of foreboding… that if I were to open this book… I would never be able to go back. I flipped open the book and there was nothing… confused I began to flip through the pages. Nothing… Is this some kind of joke? Was his mother trying to get back at me? …..This is what belonged to me huh? Nothing… Okay I got it. It stung. Even in death he seeks only to hurt me. I could feel my anger rise and furious- I threw the book against the wall shattering its spine.
A paper fell out. An old…misused… crumpled…dirty…ripped…ink soaked paper. I go over to pick it up. It was addressed to me… reading it over once…twice…and a couple of dozen times over and over again. My breathing starts to go irregular again. I drop the paper… my fingers…. My body… all gone slack… I drop to the floor. I began to choke as my vision blurs through the slits in my eyes. I choke… my sobs trying to get out but my lungs suddenly refuse to work. Oh god…. Tears cascade down my face and I hear screaming. The screaming wont stop. Dammit!… I desperately clutch at my head to stop the pain. Only then I realize its me whose screaming. His mother comes in and just embraces my broken form. She's silently crying with me. In her arms I happen to glance over at the paper and see those three words again…only those 3 crucial words…written in such pain...such emotion...such earnestness and... nothing else mattered…. A new wave of heart wrenching pain engulfs me….I'm sorry… I'm sorry… oh god I'm so sorry! Please… I choke on every word… please… I sob… I'm so sorry. She had said that it had always belonged to me...
And the tears just wont stop.
