Diaries Magazine

The Final Confession. (My 100th Post!)

Posted on the 25 September 2013 by Sreesha @petrichor_blore
----Sometimes I wish I could just die. Not because life has no gifts or joy left. But because confessions are so much easier on a deathbed----
He receives the note. Someone is asking him something about what to have for lunch. He mumbles a reply. He is curious about the note. Who writes handwritten notes these days? He began to read –
Hi, This is probably not the right thing to tell you. Now or ever. But you must know. At least now. I have loved you for a long time. From afar. But it was never my place to tell you; never a time right. I have seen the hatred you have for me. It made me afraid. Many a sleepless nights I have spent regretting this fact. Wondering if my life would have been different if I had gathered the courage to tell you this simple fact. My life – yes, I know I am being selfish, when I say my life. I was selfish when I did not tell you. I was afraid of your mockery. I was selfish enough to protect my self-esteem. I am being selfish now. You are settled; you are happy. But here I am, pouring my heart out, at the risk of wrecking your happiness. I am vain. I think my feelings will affect you and wreck your happiness! But you must know, I am not so cruel. I never wished anything but happiness for you. But now, I am not afraid anymore – of your hatred or the consequences of me writing this letter. I have given you a very significant portion of my thoughts. I feel you should know this. Forgive me this frivolity. I could not wait forever for you to come and answer my unspoken questions. Nor did I have the courage to make the first move. So I left. Without even trying to let you know how I feel about you. I tried to erase you. But I couldn’t. You are not just the person I love – you are a part of me. I don’t know if you ever think of me. Nor do I know if you even remember who I am. You always joked that you cannot remember my name. Was that just pretense? Will you ever tell me? Or won’t you? Because you think it is too late? Or because it never was a pretense? I never told you all this before because the world is too quick to judge. Imagine what would be said about me if I told you how I felt even after leaving? But even if I had told you, I would have meant only to let you know; not for you to do anything about it. I have never expected anything in return. There’s so much I want to tell you. Sometimes I want to tell you that your smile is like that of a child – full of innocence and mischief. And I want to tell you I have never met anyone funnier, and no one could make me laugh as much as you could. Sometimes I want to tell you how similar our thoughts used to be; about how I had noticed you completing my sentences without meaning to. I never did tell you. I thought you would laugh at me. It was my imagination, you would tell me. I know. I have wanted to see the sun rise with you, to kiss you in the rain, to dance with you in the twilight. I won’t say you have never made me cry. You have. You have at many times been so inconsiderate that it has hurt me enough to hate you. And yet, what still brings tears to my eyes is that one time when you apologized for making me cry. I have cried every time I thought of that; not because you felt sorry, but you cared enough to try and console me. Did I read too much into your apology? I don’t know. But I wished everyday that perhaps there was something more to it. Maybe I am as childish today as I was back then. I do not have a lot of time left nor the energy to write more. I just did not want the memory of the love I had for you to be a mere secret for me to take to my grave. I do wish I could see you once. For one last time.
He folded the note. It had the address of a hospital. The envelop did not have a stamp. Perhaps she had a messenger deliver it at his doorstep. He went to the hospital. He knew he had to come back early for the party at home. Her room was in a restricted special care ward. He received a signed doctor’s permission and gave it to the warden at the entrance. He walked inside. He was aghast when he saw her. She was a mere shadow of her former self. Shrunk almost to nothingness. Sallow skin stretched over bones. She looked like all her blood had drained out. Machines beeped around her and her index finger was clamped by a clip-like thing with a wire. He swallowed a lump in his throat. She looked up at him and smiled weakly. Even in sickness, his presence seemed to bring out a light in her eyes. “What’s happening to you?” he asked tentatively. “I am dying of a broken heart, I think.” She was trying to joke even when she was on her deathbed. “Be serious. That’s not a real thing.” She sighed, “You never take me seriously, do you?” She sighed again. It was getting more difficult to speak. She continued, “Never mind what’s happened to me. I am just glad you came. The best way to die is to see you sitting here beside me, with your hand in mine, before my eyelids drop.” “Don’t say that! Nothing’s gonna happen to you. Look at me! Believe me!” he clutched her hand. With the little remaining strength that she had, she clutched his hand tightly and said, “Happy Birthday.” The smile faltered. The grasp on his hand weakened. She closed her eyes for the last time.
----If there was a way I could erase you from my mind, 
I would do so without even blinking twice,
If only to ease my own pain...
But when I think of my happiest memories of this lifetime, 
I still think of every moment that I spent with you----
*************************************************************
So that was my 100th post!
I wanna post here yet another Calvin and Hobbes strip and a collage of some random pictures. The collage has partly inspired this post and is partly inspired from it.
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I will not be posting for a while. I am taking a (very) short break from blogging. (Blogging is addictive. This statement might even be a lie!)
Date: 26th Sept 2013
Signed: SD.
The Final Confession. (My 100th Post!) The Final Confession. (My 100th Post!)
Copyright Petrichor and Clouds 2013 at petrichorandclouds.blogspot.com Please do not reproduce the material published here.

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