Choices

I’m driving to your house.

I can’t wait to see you, touch you, kiss you.

I can’t wait to fix it.

I can’t wait to make it better.

You, and the person you love the most are fighting. It’s valentine’s day. It’s supposed to be romantic. Flowers, chocolate, kisses and champagne. There’s a pressure to perform. That pressure, mixed with the sudden pressure life has applied to you on this day; cause a conflict.

Words are exchanged, heated, searing words. Words you will forgive, but might not forget.

You’re on the phone, outside, pacing to and fro in the middle of your quiet suburban street. The conflict escalates. The pain, disappointment and betrayal is evident.

You realise you were wrong.

You realise that today, of all days, you should’ve fought for them, not with them.

The phone call ends abruptly. You sink to the ground, unmoved by who might walk past, who might see you in that suburban street, crying your eyes out, wishing you could turn back time.

You dry your tears, and go back inside.

You are met with questions, queries, prying eyes. You open up, seeking solace, but you find a sermon instead. You, the lonely congregant, do what you have been taught to do. You listen, you agree, and your mind begins to churn, and change. Your head begins to spin. You start wondering if it’s all really worth saving. You become hopeless; your resolve weakens. You decide to give up. You decide to be rational and unfeeling. You resolve to cut off the current willing you to reach for your loved one.

Then, as you walk to your room, prepared to isolate yourself and drown in misery, your phone lights up. A glimmer of hope, a hand reaching out. The conflict has eased, the fire is under control. You pause, unsure that you want to try again. Unsure that this is real. Unsure that the damage done today is fixable.

You lay next to your phone for a moment, questioning, tossing and turning. And then you become still. Your heart begins to speak to you.

Sweet memories trickle into your soul and begin to stick. Sweeter words dance on the tip of your tongue, their taste as sweet as honey, their weight feather light.

You know what to do. Do it now.

All of a sudden, your limp body gains strength. You sit up, dress yourself, wasting no time in getting prettied up, looking less broken than you are, and you grab the keys on your desk. You rush out of that place, and as soon as you step over the threshold, something breaks. A veil is lifted from your eyes, a weight is obliterated, and once again you can see the world in vivid colour.

You drive, almost recklessly, speeding down every road, cutting every corner, rushing through every amber light, until you arrive.

They step out of their house, the one you love, the one you almost gave away.

You hesitantly walk towards them. The hesitation is mutual. Desperation whispering between the two of you. You stare at them for a moment, gazing into their weary eyes, studying their tear stained face, observing their trembling hands. You take another step. Closer and closer you move, until you can hear each other’s breath. You can feel the warmth of their body, an inch or so between you.

Your arms wrap tentatively around them carefully, respectfully, so as not to break anything further. They return the gesture; and tighten their grip. You let out a heavy sigh.

Relief, regret, redemption.

Your grip tightens. You cling to them for dear life. You cling to them and vow to never let go.