ques amor verus tenuit tenebit

Someone once told me many years back, enjoy being single. You are your own person, no chains bind you and no feelings burden you. At the time, those words were crystal clear. They made perfect sense. I had wrenched myself away from a relationship that had left many a scar. Life was in colour again, and the lake open to my every fancy. Being single never felt better, and I was drinking every tasty drop of it.

Yet now, I am but free. Why am I not jumping for joy? Why are my feet rooted deeply to the ground ,if what I had come out of was a burden too heavy? Why am I not drinking everything the new day has to offer greedily? Why am I not light-hearted at the prospect of carousing around town, meeting the acquaintance of new company? Why am I not indulging in things I thought I'd enjoy doing if I were single again?

Hope, perhaps? I think not. Hope may spring eternal, but it has aged pitifully in my case. Denial? Any semblance of a denial has long been put to rest, buried under the soil of reality. Determination, maybe? Determination can only succeed with a full complement of hands, something I'm devoid of.

I had no answer to my whimsical musing, but as I type on, one word comes to mind. Love. Could it be? Could it be this oft used but much misrepresented notion has a strong grip on my being, refusing to yield and be swept away with the current of sorrow and time? Perhaps this love makes me see that I've lost, and not gained. Perhaps this love whispers sadly to me that I surrendered all too meekly. Did I close my ears as the being that was the relationship cried out for help in vain? Did I turn a blind eye as it looked at me helplessly? Did I walk away as it desperately reached out to be grabbed? I know not. Deep inside, maybe I conceded before the sun set. Maybe my arms had grown tired and my legs had turned to lead. Perhaps I had seen its demise slowly unfurl in front of me and had remained ignorant.

But even as I doubt myself, memories flood in. Joyous memories, dark memories. And I know, with the strongest conviction, that I did not. A colourful history, too many memories, a lovely soul. I would have never stood by nonchalantly as things rotted. Yet, they've turned to dust, and I stand alone. Regrets? A chestful. Would I have done things differently? Hands held up, I would have, undoubtedly. Was I happy? Yes, from the start, right up to the end.

And when asked, it was one helluva journey. Pity it had to end.