"Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation!" — Kahlil Gibran
His words ripped my heart. The argument that day was short but for me, that was the last straw. I’ve had enough. My words are always misinterpreted. I meant something else and he understood it differently. Is my grammar too Asian?
My right hand was numb and couldn’t feel the coldness of the steel doorknob. I tried opening the oak door wanting to keep myself away from another tumultuous encounter. I know it’s difficult. I even turned around, stared at his face trying to see remorse. At first he was laughing, making everything sound like a joke. Was he teasing me? I wouldn’t know. All I know is that his words hurt me. The succeeding banters were serious... was he? Or was it me who’s serious? All I know is that I am hurt. I couldn’t seem to say anything right. For him, everything I say is always meant to attack him. That time, I was just making a simple statement. How could he take it differently? I couldn’t understand how a description of a situation sounded like a complain…Enough! I don’t even want to talk about it.
I gathered whatever was left of my strength, turned the knob, and opened the door. My feet are heavy as I stepped out of the room. Slammed the door and walked as far as I could. I didn’t know where to go…but my feet seemed to trace the familiar path that I used to take when I want to shun my world.
The same weathered rock stood magnificently while the clear water of the river gushed through its hollowed sides. As usual, it’s beckoning me to come and find solace on its surface smoothened by the tender caress of water.
The summer heat ebbed the tide and the water was only ankle deep. The depth was enough to send coolness that relaxed my trembling body. I sat on the rock and felt the traces of afternoon heat on my skin.
We used to be sitting on this rock together: playing with the water, stamping our feet and enjoying the cool kiss of the splash on our innocent faces. Enough! I don’t want to think about it anymore. The more I think of him, the more I feel that a part of me is lost.
I kept still. Listened to the whispers of the water as it swept through the riverbed. How I wish I am this water, that knows where to go and sure where it is heading.
Without him now, I lost my North Star. It took a lot of courage to close that door, but I have to, or else he might keep on hurting me over and again.
Now, as I sit on this rock, my mind is spinning. Should I go back and open the door once again?
The more I sit here, the more I couldn’t stand the pain. The longer I linger, the more I realized how much I love him.