You
will understand one day, they say. You will feel it too and it will be the most
wonderful thing in the whole wide world and you will know it is love.
I
am sitting next to my window, my bottle of scotch lazily resting half-empty in
my hand, my favorite white shirt somehow, somewhere stained and my Ferragamos
lying dangerously close to the fireplace.
My
eyelashes feel heavy. My breath comes out in short puffs, as if something was
weighing down upon my chest. I can’t seem to concentrate on any thought for a
few seconds before my mind rushes back to embrace every single memory of her.
Every time I tasted her inimitable fragrance, caressed her flawless skin or
heard the torrent of bliss that is her laugh.
At
first I thought it was my heart I felt sinking. But a surgeon should know
better. That’s not where the heart is. What I feel losing in a void ocean of bitter
emotions is my very soul. Nothing physical about it, nothing natural or
scientifically explained. My entire existence bows down to this powerful
tyrant, this sneaky usurper who took control over me tonight and shows no
intention of backing out.
I
finish my scotch and look outside. The world had always looked beautiful from
up here. Tonight it seems dreary, monotonous, bleak. At least I know that
somewhere out there, amidst the lifeless chaos, one might find a single
sparkling jewel of light. Only for one last night.
I
find myself wondering whether this is some form of divine punishment, if some
superior being decided for this to be my cruel penance. I never believed in
God, but if he’s out there, only he can save me now.
In
a fit of helplessness, I fall on my knees and pray, tear-filled and broken. I
don’t ask to understand, I don’t request forgiveness. I only beg, disregarding
my petty self-esteem, my pitiful pride and my disillusioned concept of reason.
I
hit the lowest point of my life just as the first rays of dawn shine through
the window and illuminate my surroundings. A needless dawn.
I
stay on the ground for a while, not for any particular purpose other than to
postpone the inevitable just a moment longer. Then I get up, take a shower and clumsily
dress up.
As
I walk out into the street, I hear a preacher beseeching me to save my soul. Do
I still have one, I wonder? The pain is still there, so it must be still
clinging on to my body.
In
the surgery room, my jewel, a part of my existence, is waiting for me. She made
me promise, the last time she looked into my eyes. She didn’t have to speak,
even if she could. She stared into me and lightly gripped my arm, a gesture
that taxed her visibly. A tear rolled down her cheek and it was all I needed to
understand. It was time.
Life
begins and ends in a hospital, they say. This is certainly true for me. My life
is about to end by my hand, only my crushed soul remaining behind. And I know
the only sentiment left in me will be my love for her.
This
is not farewell, Jewel. I’ll always be with you. I love you.
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