Another Chance

On the day we broke up, it was sunny.

The universe didn't mind that hearts were shattered.

On the day we broke up, birds were singing.

It was a happy song, one that couldn't be dampened by a few tears falling onto the sidewalk.

On the day we broke up, there wasn't a cloud in the sky, endless blue even into the horizon.

There wasn't a single thing wrong with the world, on the day that we broke up.

Two days after we broke up, there was a thunderstorm.

I didn't know the reason why, the forecasters said something about low pressure.

But as the rain pounded against the roof and the glass windows, and as the thunder shook the house from it's very foundation, I felt the anger stir up inside of me.

How dare he steal everything that we had? No, not physical possessions, but what he did steal was more real than any physical object could have been.

How dare he RUIN everything that we had strived for? We had wanted marriage, a family, well, at least, our parents did. We just wanted to make our parents happy. So that's what we strove for.

We worked hard for 3 years. Building a life together. The prospect of marriage was on the table from the very beginning, that's what this was all for anyways.

Sure it started out as arranged, but that didn't last long.

We went on dates, we had fun together. We met each other's friends and, consequently, made new ones.

Slowly, over the next year and a half, we fell in love.

2 years in, and he proposed for real. We both knew we would end up married anyway, but he said he wanted to propose to show that our marriage would not just be that of an arranged nature, but one of love.

2 years, 5 months, and 2 days in, we had our first argument as a couple. I can't even remember what it was about, but I know that it must have been something insignificant if I can't even remember the smallest details of it.

2 years, 8 months, and 6 days in, I started noticing that he was coming home later from work.

2 years, 9 months, and 4 days in, he stopped hiding proof that he wasn't being faithful.

Lipstick stains on his collar, and bright bruises littering his neck.

On our 3 year anniversary, he brought her home. He slept with her in our bed.

And that's what I saw when I came home.

How dare he ruin what we had for some cute girl from his workplace.

It doesn't matter that she was more aesthetically pleasing.

He shouldn't have thrown all of our hard work in the trash.

Tears fall from my eyes, mimicking the rain pouring down from the heavens.

Almost as if the thunder wasn't loud enough, someone pounds on my door, screaming my name. Screaming for me to come out and talk to him.

Of course, I know who it is. I know it's him. I could recognize his voice no matter where I go. The voice that I fell in love with.

Reluctantly I go to the door, and just as I thought, it his him. He is drenched, white shirt sticking to his skin.

Excuses fly out of his mouth, apologies as well, and one fact out of all the senseless things that were falling out, stood out to me.

She left him.

She didn't realize that he had a significant other.

Now he's on his knees.

Begging.

I don't want to go back.

I don't want to get hurt again.

I don't want him to hurt me again.

For a solid minute, I stand in front of him in silence.

I hear his incessant pleas to take him back.

I hear his promises to never do it again.

I feel his arms wrap around my waist, as his wet hair presses against my stomach.

I know that I shouldn't trust him.

I have every right in the world to just slam the door and lock it, leaving him to face our families and explain why our relationship was destroyed.

But I can't.

Love is a powerful, stupid, crazy, thing. And even though he hurt me, I still feel elated when I see him, and the feeling of him hugging me causes my heart to quicken.

I place my hand in his hair, and wipe it out of his face.

I kneel down with him and embrace him.

"I'll give you another chance."