KARMA

2,586 Days. . .

Chapter 6 - 2,586 days

2,586 days. . .

It's strange how easily it all can come back to him. He's not sure what to call it or what it even means or why he's even feeling this way.

It's a concoction, a collection of testaments. All just happening simultaneously, occurring, existing all at once, in a confusing game called life.

It's a harlequin of scattered memories. Ones of gentle caresses, warm hugs, intoxicating laughs, and also the unpleasant ones, unfavourable grunts, painful glances and harsh accusations.

It's there. Somewhere. With the wind - fettered together in the air particles that are too minuscule to the naked eye.

It's a crumb, an atom of a scent; no, even less than that - it's more like the premonition of a scent than the scent itself.

He remembered it all. He remembers it all.

He feels it. He felt it all - her, him and they.

What they were? Who they were? When did they?

And just ultimately the question; why?

Why would they?

How could they?

Loving someone is probably the most demanding and assiduously difficult aspect there is to life. Love is beautiful, yes, and ultimately worth all the hassle, sacrifice and inflicting wounds. Love is magical too, but love is just oh-so puzzling.

It's a puzzle with a piece missing. It's Addison, he realised, she's the missing piece to his puzzle.

Love is never taught and can never be taught. It's an endearment, a compassion, an affair so strong that it just comes so naturally with life. There's so many people to love and so many ways to love.

Greedily, completely, gradually, purposefully, fiercely, tirelessly, incessantly, relentlessly.

Forever.

He loved her in every single one of those ways unendingly.

He loved her. He loves her.

It's only human to love more than one person. Right? After all, he is human. Right?

To love more than one, it's picture perfect in a broken frame.

Right. It's only human to. But also, it's an excuse to. Because people aren't supposed to. In a world where polygamous practices are frowned upon, it's not a practice for the faint heart. It's not for him. He's a realist. He doesn't take risks. It's like having an aneurysm rupturing right before you, you don't want to be in such predicament.

Never.

Because loving more than one is easy but actually keeping a balance, that wouldn't be toxic and destructive, is not.

He loved Meredith, he did and there were moments when he was so certain that she'd be the last woman he would ever say those three words to.

I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.

But there was just so much more missing, much more torturous minutes toppled on top of each other and, at times like this, he'd find himself trying to convince himself that he had not made the worse mistake of his life.

If he had a time machine, he wouldn't go back to when all their problems started and it's only because he still doesn't know when and where their issues all began. What happened to them? Why was he pushing her away? Why was she pushing him away? Because it wasn't only him. She runs too. She ran too. If he could, he'd probably go back to when they first got married. If he could do it all over again, he promise he'd be less stupid, less insensitive, less clueless and less egotistical.