Love Story

I was lying propped up against my pillow. Despite the fact that it was already late mid-night, I could not seal my eyes closed for more than five minutes. Maybe the coffee, I convinced myself. I slipped out of the blanket and took a few steps towards the window. In its delicious slumber, the entire neighborhood was shrouded with darkness, and there was no trace of life. No movement. No sound. Nothing. And there was something about tonight—some kind of invisible force—that was weighing me down with a bone-crushing weight. I felt like there was a void in me, so hollow and empty that it would never be filled. Not after when she’s already gone. Forever.
I scanned my dimly-lit bedroom, bathed in orange light from the dangling ceiling lamp, and my eyes dropped upon the red carton box on the shelf opposite my bed. My Memory Box. Out of nowhere, waves of nostalgia came rushing back, rolling over me, so much so that I surrendered to the overwhelming upsurge of desire to open up the box. I took a few big strides towards the shelf, and standing on tiptoe, I reached for the box, snatched it and headed back to my bed on which I sat cross-legged with the box on my lap. With one hand covering my mouth and nose, I dusted the box off with my other hand. In the middle of the red box’s cover bore My Memory Box, at the bottom of which lay (Me and Her). Me and Her…Me and Her…The three words were so familiar. Yet…so distant now. All of a sudden, I felt so weak and drained. I was not crying, but my heart was, longing for nothing else but her. Only her.
I shut my eyes tightly, not trying to shut out the light, but attempting to shut out the pain. The very pain that was slicing through me. The pain that had been my companion ever since she had walked out on me that night. Unwillingly. Breathing a long, shaky sigh, I opened my eyes again and ran my fingers on the cover of the box, wishing more than anything to feel her soft hand that had once laid upon the very spot I was touching now. Open the box, I was urging myself. A voice—my own voice—was ringing in my ears. Everything is beyond retrieval now. Nothing else but a faint smell of memories is left.
I removed the cover, only to find how orderly and “unchanged” the guts were in spite of one year of negligence. Oh God! She is smiling at me. My heart was in my throat now. I swallowed hard, and ran my trembling fingers on the mirror surface of the picture frame. You look as beautiful as ever. I forced a smile, and lifted the frame out of the box. Another picture greeted my eyes, and made my heart sore. This time, it was me and her. I was trying to spoon-feed her, but she recoiled after the third gulf apparently because she had claimed Chocolate Trio was too sweet. At that precise moment, tears of despair stung my eyes, and after being suppressed for one agonizing year, they were finally allowed to run free. And for that very instant, I wished I had gone with her. To the world free of pain. To the world filled with nothing else but our love for each other.
I could no longer control myself. Burying my face into my hand, I broke into hysterical sobs, each sending a piercing knife through my flesh. Why her? Why did you take her away from me? Why didn’t you take me instead? Why?
(To be continued...)