As Long as We're Together

Chapter 1: Confessions

Dawn was slowly breaking out. I had never been to this place before. The view from up here was great. Spectacular. I got up, walked to the edge of the top of the fifteen-storeyed building, and marveled at the landscape. It was so beautiful. Just like her. I looked down.
"As long as we're together," I said.
Then, I jumped.

I'd always thought I'd known what was to be done. And all this while, I'd remained firm in my belief that I had made the correct choice.

But had I?

Would killing oneself actually lead to the renouncement of the overwhelming agonies prevailing in one's life? Would one ultimately execute this final act if they were aware of a better gift that would arrive their way in the impending future?

The human life is primarily characterized by the choices he makes in the entirety of his grand journey. And at certain pivotal points in our lives, when we are urged to make certain choices that would play a profound role in futurity, we eagerly hope that those decisions turn out to be the right ones. But then again, there are times when the individual takes the wrong path. And those times – those moments – would later haunt him for the rest of his life, compelling him to start pleading earnestly to be given a second chance. To make everything right once again. He begins to imagine the possibilities, of how the events of the present would have possessed a different flavor had he taken the better path. His continuous imagination of previous experiences and the visualization of a different course that could have been forged gives way to immense irreparable sorrows that seep the life out of his soul. And in this endless cycle of anguish and lament, he continues to beseech, pleading to go back in time and alter his choices. In extremely rare moments, he is awarded a second opportunity to reverse his wrongs. At other times, fate does not forgive. And the soul slowly wanders off into decadence...

When you're hurtling down, extremely fast, from the top of a fifteen-storeyed building, the clock seems to slow down. Time comes to a standstill, providing you with some extra moments for some deep introspection. As I was plunging, I never felt more aware of my surroundings. I heard the sharp whistles of the cold wind as it blew past my ears. My vision spiraled out of control as my body rotated in strange alignments. I felt the full force of gravity – a force I realized was more powerful than any other aspect of physics – as it pulled me towards the planet's core. As the world toppled out of control and made way for the chaos that emerged from within, I closed my eyes. The sudden darkness brought newfound peace that started to replace the chaos. And amidst this darkness, I wondered: isn't it a tad paradoxical for humans to fear the very concept of death throughout their entire lives, only to embrace it with such sheer intrepidity when they finally kneel before the great harbinger? In that moment, there is not a hint of fear, no second thoughts, and no regrets. There is only a longing for embracement; a longing to settle into the warm clutches of the elegant Lady Death. In my case, she personified my beloved one. I'd used to crave her presence. I could never sleep without thinking about her. Only the single thought of finally embracing her would bring an iota of peace upon my tormented soul, tempting me to chase her every day while being trapped inside this thick fiber of life. And so, in that final moment, when we ultimately came to terms, I locked my arms around Lady Death's shoulders, buried my face in the crook of her neck, and let her infinite blanket of comfort sweep across my soul. As I prepared to welcome the fall, an air of unadulterated peace settled into my body. There was an aura of pure bliss as I closed my eyes and slowly sunk into the ocean of oblivion. The black waters were comforting at first. But as soon as I attempted to breathe, the suffocation took its toll. My lungs started to fill their sacks with this murky water, and I started to drown amidst the all-encompassing darkness. I smiled. I was about to be hers very soon.
As I started to drift away in oblivion's lap, I heard a low thud in the background. It must have been the landing, was my last thought before everything faded away.

I'd hoped to arrive on the other side and finally see her. I'd hoped to finally be with her. Together. However, on that fateful day, I had never been greater deceived in my entire life. Because that day, during the fall, when my longing soul was entwined around that of the elegant Lady Death, I had never realized when the Monk of Life had wrenched our spirits apart.
Yes, I didn't die that day. I survived the fall. A tremendous amount of blood was lost, a similar magnitude of organs damaged, and it would later take them three months to bring me back from the coma. But I was there. Back into the cold world. Alive and well. And my survival of the fall, it enraged me. I had already lost countless people whom I'd deeply cared for. I'd lost the one person whom I lived for. The world rested in shambles and I couldn't seem to be going anywhere further. There was no reason to exist. Was it too much to beg for the exodus of the soul, after everything that it had lost?

This book of life had at least one aspect ingrained into my head since the opening of its first chapter: fate's primary role, in this world, is cruelty. In return, it only invites resentment from the human's side. Lying on the hospital bed, with my entire body covered in white cloth, my limbs unable to move, the lips failing to weave even the slightest of words, the only organs that were in complete function were my brain and the heart. The heart pumped red, seething liquid through every vessel of my living tissues, filling them up with a certain inflammatory sensation that they had never experienced before. The blood boiled inside the nerves that connected to my brain, transferring into it a certain sense of fury and rage that I had never encountered before. The body was damaged, the mind resided in a terrible state of unrest, and the soul continued to exist in vain.

Eight months had crawled by before I was finally discharged. My body healed over time. However, the soul never forgot its scars. Every emotion that once used to evoke waves of joy and elation was now bereft of its efficacy. A big lump had nucleated on my throat, a lump that seemed to tighten its knots around my uvula with every passing day. Many must have experienced the symptoms of this fatal lump in their lives. This lump is like a virus. It clings to you and saps out every ounce of energy from your soul until the spirit becomes only loosely attached to the body. It desperately tries to escape but fails to incur the strength to do so; the virus has robbed the soul of that strength as well.

At first glance, this ailment seems incurable. However, realization dawns sooner or later, and a solution is always found. For when this virus reaches the zenith of its potency, there does exist a certain elixir that can expunge the ailment from the body. That elixir is administered in the form of confession.
I realized I needed to confide in someone. Anyone. I simply had to let it all go. And most importantly, I needed to apologize. I needed to apologize to her. Even though she's long gone, I needed to convey that powerful word to someone else. But to whom was I supposed to convey? I had no one to speak to. The only few friends that I'd had before had left me forever for their pursuits. It had really hurt to experience another person leaving my life. Leaving this world.

It was 2 a.m. Sleep was more of a pleasure of the past that had lost its essence these days. Nevertheless, I desperately tried to let the fabric of somnolence provide me some form of warmth and comfort from the cold wave of maladies that had befallen. I squirmed around in my bed and tried to force my eyes shut. After several unsuccessful attempts, I finally threw the covers away and rose from the bed. I walked to the kitchen and prepared myself a brew of black coffee with extra sugar; it was our favorite drink. My lips parted ways to take in the first sip of the warm, black, frothing liquid. As I sipped, the strong gush of caffeine that seeped in seemed to evoke nostalgic memories of a far greater vividness. The drowsiness slowly subsided, replaced by a sudden surge of awareness. I took note of my surroundings. Upon the shelf was placed the numerous pictures we had of each other. I walked over to take a look at those snapshots. They were all happy moments captured at the perfect time and at the perfect places to render them eternal. My eyes scanned across the pictures to find one particular photograph that stood from the rest. It was a picture of us. She was smiling through the lens, as two arms were wrapped around her shoulders. Although, that wasn't the feature that made the photograph stand from the rest. The picture was torn into two. The torn piece had disappeared months ago and, to this day, was nowhere to be found. That was the striking part. She must have done that when we'd had that quarrel. The most unsettling part was that I was the torn piece. She must have carried the torn portion with her that day as she'd stormed out of the house. And that very same picture must now be resting under several volumes of dirt. Under her grave.

I quickly drained the coffee, put on my jacket, and went out of the house for a walk.

It became three by the time I reached the graveyard. The air was cold and damp. The wind howled, making my jacket flutter as it blew its chilly gush at my face. I continued walking across the tombstones. As I walked further to the more silent side of the cemetery, the howling of the wind slowly stopped, later reduced to an intense shivering breeze that seemed to whisper as it swept across my ears. It was eerily quiet in this area. Not even the rustling of leaves could be heard even after the onset of the frosty breeze. Despite my jacket, I felt cold. I took a deep breath, inhaling the stark cold air into my nostrils. A light wisp of smoke left through my nose and mouth every time I exhaled. I continued walking across the graves, trying to search for the right one.

I have heard people tell stories about ghosts and other beings that roam in cemeteries post 3 a.m. The ghost hour, they called it – the time when the influence of supernatural beings is at its strongest. They claim to witness mysterious faces in the middle of the night; some also recount having come face-to-face with ghastly figures, and yet few others also claim to have gotten possessed by maleficent devils. I'd used to reject all their claims, presuming them to be downright absurd. At this moment, however, I began to speculate whether their claims had sense. As I walked past each tombstone, I was met with eerie voices inside my head. It was as if each stone seemed to speak to me in its voice. They were inaudible at first, but when I listened closely, I was able to hear their voices. They were raw and hoarse. Some whispered things into my ear, pleading with me, begging to set them free, while some of them spoke in voices of rage, whispering the most horrible curses. I heard a few poor souls wailing in agony as if they were trapped and buried alive under their graves and longed to emerge back above the earthen soil. I realized there was a reason why we were told not to wander off into graveyards in the middle of the night. One can definitely lose their sanity if one dwells on the whispers of these cursed souls that wander on necropolitan soil. The angry, demented, and melancholic cries of the dead slowly amalgamated into a kind of cacophonic melody that raged through my ears. But no matter how powerful their whispers were, how profound the words they spoke, or how ominous their presence was, they could never smear a single taint of their wretched spectral matter upon my soul. I was impervious to their cries. I was armed with a single purpose: to be with her, at her side, and tell her everything. I moved on. The voices seemed to diminish with every step I took until they were replaced with absolute silence.
At last, I found her grave.

The white stone that carried her engravings was cold to the touch. There were no flowers, no gifts, no offerings laid. I'd never had the strength to visit her grave before. And like me, even she'd had once been alone. I stood in front of her stone for a long time. My face was emotionless, my mind devoid of any thoughts. I simply existed in that lapse of time.

I was dumbstruck on what to do at this moment – whether to talk to a grave or just stand there and do nothing. But I needed to get this lump out. Whether it be confiding to a lifeless stone that carried her name or to imagine her presence before me, I had to do something. So, I spoke out.
"Hey", I began slowly. "I've been meaning to talk to you when you were here." I paused, trying to figure out the words to say.
It felt so awkward trying to talk to a lifeless piece of stone. Then I remembered her lifeless body that lay underneath, and a pang of guilt washed over my soul.
Imagination is the one quality that comes naturally to me. I tried to picture her lying on the bed of the grave, with her eyes closed, as if she were only under a state of deep sleep. Never dead. Her sleeping image appeared before my eyes, on the muddy bed. Her face looked serene and as bright as the shimmering moon. She looked like a sweet angel living in a demonic world, bravely and stoically enduring its brutality every single day, a feat that I know I can never achieve. Tears welled up in my eyes.
Swallowing once, I continued, "I know I shouldn't have fought. I never should have let you go out alone that night, especially in such a place. I didn't know what would occur afterwards. I had no idea what would happen to you. And now it's too late. You're gone."
My vision was getting foggy.
"I'm sorry," I said the words, hanging my head low, teardrops threatening to spill from my eyes.
I took a deep, shaky breath, and went on.
"I am sorry for letting this on you. I know I cannot undo what happened. I failed. Just like I always do. And it's so hard because I can't live my life without you. I tried to let it all go, to join you once and for all. But I failed once again. I failed to keep my loved ones close. I failed to keep you close. I failed to be there for you when you needed me the most. I failed to protect you from all those savages. I always fail every time." The tears formed a gigantic pool in my eyes. Everything was a complete blur.
"I'm sorry I could not become the person you would've wanted me to be. I never could. The only thing that I'm good at is apologizing over and over again until the words mean nothing. And here I am, standing before you, after so many months, expressing another meager apology. For everything!" I sobbed.
The tears now plunged like a giant waterfall of saline waters. I sobbed loudly as I crumpled down on the muddy bed, my eyes burning with the salty drops that landed on the mud above her body. Like the agonized cries of the souls, I wailed continuously, my hands clutched into a ball, grasping the mud as if it contained a part of her essence. The tears continued to fall relentlessly on the ground. Words failed to escape my mouth as only the intractable bawls of a broken soul emanated from my lips.