It Wasn't Meant to be Goodbye

5 2 1

by rdsticek

by rdsticek

I broke free from the pit I was in.
   I realize what I must do. I should've done it before. It's not too late. Nothing is ever too late.
   I left her with too many questions, too many doubts, and fears. I've hurt her but I can make amends. I can, and I will.
   My desire to return to her is excruciating. The pain she must be experiencing because of my absence... I'll make it up to her. I will. I promised it to myself. I will not fail.
   Oh, how I long for her! I greatly miss her. I know deep down -- she's cried herself to sleep those empty, lonely nights without me by her side.
   I never meant to hurt, to leave her in such pain and confusion. But I'll make it up to her. I know I will. I won't fail.
   I'm returning, my love. You won't have to be alone anymore. I'm coming back home, my dear.
   Oh, she might be scared at first, confused and afraid. I'll have to assure her that it'll be okay. She may feel like it's a nightmare, a very bad dream. But I'll make it up to her; I'll make her feel much better. Once I do that, she'll feel much, much better.
   I never meant to hurt her. I keep telling myself that. It repeats over and over in my mind. She's been in too much emotional pain. Oh, how she must be hurting! I feel so bad for having done this to her. I never should've left her. I have to make it up to her!
   Which is exactly what I'm doing now. I'm making my way to her. I can't wait to see her, to kiss her, to feel her again. She needs to be happy again. I can do that for her.
   I'm standing outside the kitchen window. She has just finished the dishes and is now preparing a cup of tea, her favorite: Earl Grey with a touch of cinnamon. She'll then sit down in her favorite chair in the living room with a good romance novel, the kind of stories she enjoys so well. She'll read a chapter or two, finish her tea, then get ready for bed. Because of my absence, I'm not sure if she does that anymore. From my vantage point outside the window, she looks so sad, a sadness I've never witnessed before.
   That really pains my heart to see her so miserable. My poor, poor baby. My poor darling wife.
   I make my way to the front door and ring the the bell. It feels strange to ring the bell to my own home. I've been gone for two weeks.
   I see my beloved wife make her way to the door, turning the outside light on. She opened the inside door and gazed at me the same time she was unlocking the screen door.
   She stopped, horror taking over her beautiful features. Her hands flew to her face. She was shaking uncontrollably, her eyes widening in horror.
   She screamed.
   I quickly stepped inside and reached out for her. I wanted to tell her that I couldn't stay away, that I wanted to be with her, to show her that I wasn't't mad at all toward her.
   The car accident wasn't her fault; the other driver was drunk and slammed into us, right into the passenger door, killing me instantly.
   I'm so happy to see her again. I kept shuffling toward her, my arms outstretched and craving for her embrace. I attempted to say her name but another scream erupted from her lips.
   She backed up against the nearby chair, knocking it over.
   I finally reached her, hardly containing my excitement as I took her into my arms, leaning my face toward hers.
   I never realized that love could taste so good.