Art of Letting Go

One Spread Hand to Another

"Part of me aches at the thought of her being so close yet so untouchable, but her story and mine are different now. It wasn't easy for me to accept this simple truth, because there was a time when our stories were the same, but that was six years and two life times ago. There are memories for both of us, of course, but I've learned that memories can have a physical almost living presence, and in this Savannah and I are different as well. If hers are the stars in the nighttime sky, mine are the haunted empty spaces in between"

-Nicholas Sparks

(Dear John)

NOW

Amethyst

IT was 7:32 in the morning; when she woke up half expecting Artisan to be there, but the other side of the bed is empty. She could feel her guts on her throat; whenever she's not occupied—memories are swarming her mind; as if she's suffering from melancholia. Her regret is very overwhelming as well as the reality. It is just so hard to accept a failed outcome; when she deserves a happy ending. Her eyes were drown; as she tried to insist; that she to do her best on those tough times, but why? Why does life had to be unfair with her? If there's a God out there; she badly needs him. She sees her condition depressing, and couldn't help but count all of her frustrations. She quailed as she reckons where did she exert her effort? Did she thruster all her eggs on a basket of mistakes, or planted a seed; that does not grow—what more to produce a good fruit? She raised her hand to wipe her tears; only to see the cuts on her pale skin. She didn't felt those aches last night, and as she looked at those cuts—it gave her something to feel. She rose from her bed, and wears her old-silk robe; the same robe that reminds her of innocence and scent of him.

She went inside the bathroom, and wasn't surprised to see it all clean. Artisan probably ad removed all the trash before he left the house. That's the moment—it all sunk in to her. The after effect is more painful; than the actual tsunami of missing him. Then a question rooted on her mind surfaces on her thought. "Does she want him back?" If the sequences of events turn out to be different; she might have said "yes" or the question was never asked. She really doesn't know. She thought more of the "what if" than the "what is". A lot of possibilities and more of "I should've done that" If she could only turn back time and change things, but she can't. She's already a grown up; shit happens, she should deal with it. Yes! Dealt with it rather than wishing it was only just a dream, or that things would work out it. She's still a live; although she felt like dying. Therefore she should go on with life; because life goes on with or without her. There's no point looking back on the negative things—she could never change; because she would only make it worst.

She's applying bandage to her cuts; when she tries to console herself. What's life now that she lost everything?

It's passed 8am, and she's on her way to her work at the bookshop. The clouds were heavy and gray; sign that it's about to rain, but she doesn't care as she paced the side walk with the epistle on her hand.

Dear Amethyst,

Tonight, I don't know if I could get up from your side; because I know that I have fallen six feet under the ground to you. I will never forget every second of it; because each time is the last. It might have meant a second chance, but I would like to be smarter even just once to realize; that I had it already a long time ago. Therefore I would treasure it as our last goodbye.

I love you, but the only thing I could control is the ache on this heart break. I got nothing to say it's already too late. I know I should be leaving now, but I can't believe I'm letting you go.