The Confession: Tragic Harmony

Chapter 8

"I believe we have a situation." said Matt as he lit up his cigarette, while Roger tried to clear the smoke with the stroke of his hands. "Can you firstly please try not to exhale the smoke all over my face?"

"Sorry, sir."

"Sir?"

"Screw that! You were saying?"

Roger paused. He was staring blankly into the nothingness of vast space in front of him, as the apartments around him caved towards a diverging point, encircling the park that lay bare with moonlit grass.

"Hello?" said Matt, trying to get Roger's attention, who seemed to be consumed by the night's mirage.

Roger looked at Matt, looked away, and then let out a deep breath.

"I was saying, I have no idea about how to get myself around telling this girl.'' exclaimed Roger.

"Tell her what?" Matt shot back.

"That I am so awfully in love with her!"

Matt stared at Roger with a kind of expression that would make anyone feel like their potential stupidity about to be brought under investigation. And then suddenly, he burst in to a fit of laughter.

"WILL YOU CUT THAT OUT? WHAT'S SO FUNNY? screamed Roger as Matt drowned out his voice while laughing as hard as he could, which appeared more deliberate and less naturally initiated the more he laughed.

After his laughter subsided, he took another puff of his cigarette and responded to an annoyed Roger.

"Dude, seriously, you do not love this girl."

"How would you know?" said Roger, bemused.

"Because Roger, you don't just fall in love by bumping into somebody and getting to know she writes a novel. You're going way overboard with your feelings again." Matt paused to take another puff of his cigarette. "It's just a temporary crush that will probably fade away into nothingness in a week or so."

"I'd know if it was a crush Matt!" replied Roger, almost screaming.

"This time, its different." he lowered his voice, as if trying to restart the conversation to make up for the sudden rise of his tone. "This time, I can feel it man. The way she talks, how reassuring her voice feels, with that melodic tinge that will not let you grow tired of listening to her all day long, while you just sit their in awe, not wanting to rid yourself of the trance she's put you in. No resistance. You let it take control of you and let the...."

"FOR THE LOVE OF GOD SNAP OUT OF IT!"

Roger was taken aback by Matt's sudden protest.

"All this poetic romance and Keatsian hullabaloo is making me sick. You need to get your act together Roger, fast. You're almost in high-school now for crying out loud, you've got much bigger fish to fry."

Matt takes another long drag of his cigarette, and exhales on a seemingly disappointed Roger. "Tell you what? I know you're not going to let this go easy."

"Because you think I'm some helplessly smitten romantic who can't make sensible decisions?" Roger shot back, almost defensively.

"Well, that, and also because I know how awful regrets can make one feel." replied Matt.

"Huh?" Roger had absolutely no idea where exactly this sudden expression of empathy came from.

"Well yeah. Everyone has some kind of regrets. Big and small. Life-changing and life-breaking. It really comes down to how much you think the decisions, and the chances you don't take today, will bother you in the future." Matt put out his cigarette and continued.

"You're probably going to waste away a few months going all gaga over her anyway, might as well just pull out all that love from your system and present it to her on the fanciest looking silver platter you can find. And when you do, forget about how it's going to turn out, because you do what is best for you and your life, and right now it's making sure you don't end up losing your head over some girl that probably doesn't even have a semblance of love for you."

"Hey! She doesn't hate me!" exclaimed Roger. "But gosh, you actually sound like you know what you're talking about for once." he continued, sniggering, in an attempt to poke fun at him.

"As a matter of fact, I do actually."

There was a deafening silence.

"WHAT? What do you mean? Is there something, or should I say, someone I should know about?" Roger demanded an explanation from a friend he thought he knew everything about.

"Regrets don't always have to be about not being able to confess your feelings to someone. There are far more potent forms of regret that indelibly scar your heart and mind."

For a moment, there was silence again, followed by the rustling of the leaves as the wind echoed its cries into the vastness of the dark, empty skies as if testifying to Matt's words. He took out another cigarette and placed it gently between his lips, before pulling it out again as if suddenly realizing something.

"Trust me, Roger, this world is a dump. You will meet many people who'd sound like they'd take a bullet for you but might really just turn out to be the ones firing it, and when you try to do something about it, the world will hate your guts and call you out for it. Life isn't under any obligation to be fair simply because the contrary sounds too disturbingly bizarre to accept. We are not the authors of our fortune, but rather mere scribes who write on as the One True Author of our destinies dictates us our paths shaped by our decisions. Not everyone who can speak their minds can write them out too, and not everyone who can write writes the same way, which is why we can all tell different stories, yet they will always feel familiar."

Matt paused to light up his cigarette. He took a puff and exhaled the smoke out into the motionless wind that carried the smoke away like some miniature storm cloud. Roger stood there looking at Roger, with his arms folded, in anticipation.

"Don't let anyone define your story, Roger. You owe it to yourself and to anyone who has ever looked at you wished to be in your place. No one is worth more than you, your dreams, and your happiness. Not even the delusional version of yourself. The sooner you get that, the happier you'll be."

"Damn, Matt. That sounds cold even for you."

Suddenly after his last sentence, Roger's phone buzzed. He reached for his trouser's pocket and took it out, almost freezing in place as soon as he glances on the screen. It was a text message.

"What's wrong?" Matt asked worryingly.

"I think I'll have to go." Roger replied, smiling, as he put his phone back in his pocket.

"But what's the rush?" At least tell me what is going on for Christ's sake!"

Roger dashes towards his bicycle and immediately mounts on it in position.

"I need to write a poem for Elisa, and I need to write it FAST! See ya!"

Before Matt could say anything, Roger rode off on his bicycle with incredible haste.

"He's already writing poems for her? Bloody hell, why do I even bother trying to talk sense into that hearty fool."

Matt threw his cigarette away and walked back home.