Her Heartbreak
By: RDV
At nearly two o’clock past midnight, in the dark atmosphere of the dormitory’s balcony, they stood face to face. Her set face was emblazoned by the blue moonlight, and in his mind’s eye he had never seen, nor imagined, anyone so beautiful. His face was a picture of ineffectual hardness, a canvas endowed only with the quality of the night. Otherwise it was merely what it was; blankness. If either had marked the enormous drop in the temperature, none of them said anything about it. Amidst the icy cold, they moved not an inch, staring at each other, with only their evening garments to wrap their freezing bodies with. It felt strange to her somewhat that on their last private meeting she would appear thus to him, when, often, she dressed herself in her best if there was the least chance that he might see her.
The moment to confess seemed to have come. She repeated what her heart had so annoyingly and constantly reminded her. She didn’t expect him to offer tea and sympathy, as he never had on any terms, but she hoped that he would say something in return to bring her to ultimate pacification.
Instead he left her unanchored. There were ministrations in his glance, for which she found no counterparts in her library of intelligence. She didn’t understand, or she didn’t want to. She spoke again, knowing that entreaty of any form would hardly penetrate him. She said she knew from the start that he had propensity of the kind, that it was only a matter of time until he chose the path which she swore never to trudge, always to oppose, to her dying day.
He submitted no reaction to this. Her pleading stare evoked grotesque images in his mind, inspired by the possible dangers he would confront himself with beginning tomorrow, the moment he left everything behind, including her company which she forced on him with infatuated earnestness. Whatever crumbs of pity he still had left in him didn’t seem to make themselves visible to her. They hid away, threatening to dissolve imperceptibly until such a time when she decided to forget.
She went on. Did he know that she was only alive when she was within his sight and regard? Did he know that without him, everything would be plundered of its meaning? He did, somehow. But he never really gave it a single, serious, long thought before. Hearing this now, from her, gave him a subject of reflection. He thought, as he became more aware of some parts of him that he wasn’t familiar with. When before her fawning and wordless request to be loved back would only move him to thoughtlessness, right now it made him painfully conscious of her, her beauty and her love. Millions of feelings brushed over him, not one of each he understood. This person before him would love him, would go on loving him, even if he were a hundred times more un-free. He didn’t quite know why. He doubted if she knew why too.
She spoke again, this time with firmness she never before applied to her voice when referring to him. Every sound she made was a note of lament, every breath a second away from him. If he were to allow himself a choice, would he choose, rather, the road she would? Her anxiety was vast in saying this, but not so much as her hopelessness. She knew, always, that he never for once, for a second, swayed his option. He was born with that choice. He wouldn’t admit it to her, even to himself. He would leave her behind. That was fated from day one. Or maybe they were never together to begin with.
See me. Be with me. Love me.
Those were her words, weren’t they? He looked back at her. His glance was in no way warm enough to hold the waters from her eyes. Her tears rolled down and he was amazed by how the attractiveness of her weeping seemed to fade. It didn’t resemble sadness; it was something much greater than that.
He shook his head then, and the indifferent glint in his eyes confirmed how dark the night really was. What a grievous spectacle to see her silent, washed over with tears. Her feelings inside convulsed and it might’ve escaped him, but the imprints they produced did not. He saw her misery for what it was, its color, texture and weight. This love, it was her only refuge against herself and the world. She wished that he would come back, someday, even if it was to be countless years from now. But here the reality was, none of what she hoped for would happen. Not anymore. The barrenness of the evening seemed to agree, and so did the solemn silence of the wind and the black movements of the clouds. She wished further and further but her insight offered no answer.
And he, her antagonist, had won. He moved toward her, held her head and kissed her on the forehead. It was the closest he got to her, the only voluntary display of affection he gave her, and the last. A fusion of commiseration and determination to walk away flamed inside him. He was balancing his way to the door when she spoke for one last time. She wanted to be remembered. She would be glad to be remembered, no matter what he was remembering her for. He nodded. He meant to keep this final promise of his. But let not her love be worth its name, for it was that which brought him to her and brought him away from her. He left. Bathed in the autumnal air, she accepted her defeat.
At nearly two o’clock past midnight, in the dark atmosphere of the dormitory’s balcony, they stood face to face. Her set face was emblazoned by the blue moonlight, and in his mind’s eye he had never seen, nor imagined, anyone so beautiful. His face was a picture of ineffectual hardness, a canvas endowed only with the quality of the night. Otherwise it was merely what it was; blankness. If either had marked the enormous drop in the temperature, none of them said anything about it. Amidst the icy cold, they moved not an inch, staring at each other, with only their evening garments to wrap their freezing bodies with. It felt strange to her somewhat that on their last private meeting she would appear thus to him, when, often, she dressed herself in her best if there was the least chance that he might see her.
The moment to confess seemed to have come. She repeated what her heart had so annoyingly and constantly reminded her. She didn’t expect him to offer tea and sympathy, as he never had on any terms, but she hoped that he would say something in return to bring her to ultimate pacification.
Instead he left her unanchored. There were ministrations in his glance, for which she found no counterparts in her library of intelligence. She didn’t understand, or she didn’t want to. She spoke again, knowing that entreaty of any form would hardly penetrate him. She said she knew from the start that he had propensity of the kind, that it was only a matter of time until he chose the path which she swore never to trudge, always to oppose, to her dying day.
He submitted no reaction to this. Her pleading stare evoked grotesque images in his mind, inspired by the possible dangers he would confront himself with beginning tomorrow, the moment he left everything behind, including her company which she forced on him with infatuated earnestness. Whatever crumbs of pity he still had left in him didn’t seem to make themselves visible to her. They hid away, threatening to dissolve imperceptibly until such a time when she decided to forget.
She went on. Did he know that she was only alive when she was within his sight and regard? Did he know that without him, everything would be plundered of its meaning? He did, somehow. But he never really gave it a single, serious, long thought before. Hearing this now, from her, gave him a subject of reflection. He thought, as he became more aware of some parts of him that he wasn’t familiar with. When before her fawning and wordless request to be loved back would only move him to thoughtlessness, right now it made him painfully conscious of her, her beauty and her love. Millions of feelings brushed over him, not one of each he understood. This person before him would love him, would go on loving him, even if he were a hundred times more un-free. He didn’t quite know why. He doubted if she knew why too.
She spoke again, this time with firmness she never before applied to her voice when referring to him. Every sound she made was a note of lament, every breath a second away from him. If he were to allow himself a choice, would he choose, rather, the road she would? Her anxiety was vast in saying this, but not so much as her hopelessness. She knew, always, that he never for once, for a second, swayed his option. He was born with that choice. He wouldn’t admit it to her, even to himself. He would leave her behind. That was fated from day one. Or maybe they were never together to begin with.
See me. Be with me. Love me.
Those were her words, weren’t they? He looked back at her. His glance was in no way warm enough to hold the waters from her eyes. Her tears rolled down and he was amazed by how the attractiveness of her weeping seemed to fade. It didn’t resemble sadness; it was something much greater than that.
He shook his head then, and the indifferent glint in his eyes confirmed how dark the night really was. What a grievous spectacle to see her silent, washed over with tears. Her feelings inside convulsed and it might’ve escaped him, but the imprints they produced did not. He saw her misery for what it was, its color, texture and weight. This love, it was her only refuge against herself and the world. She wished that he would come back, someday, even if it was to be countless years from now. But here the reality was, none of what she hoped for would happen. Not anymore. The barrenness of the evening seemed to agree, and so did the solemn silence of the wind and the black movements of the clouds. She wished further and further but her insight offered no answer.
And he, her antagonist, had won. He moved toward her, held her head and kissed her on the forehead. It was the closest he got to her, the only voluntary display of affection he gave her, and the last. A fusion of commiseration and determination to walk away flamed inside him. He was balancing his way to the door when she spoke for one last time. She wanted to be remembered. She would be glad to be remembered, no matter what he was remembering her for. He nodded. He meant to keep this final promise of his. But let not her love be worth its name, for it was that which brought him to her and brought him away from her. He left. Bathed in the autumnal air, she accepted her defeat.
posted by Ria D. at
8:48 PM
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