We met as strangers. Two strangers from different worlds. Just another speck into my momentary life. Who would have known that I would ever get so close to you? Who would have known that you would be the most important person in my life? We talk for a short time. All the regular things. Two people who just met. Perfect Strangers.
A couple of weeks later, I see you in tears. A sight which I wish I will never see again. We may be strangers, but seeing you upset kills me inside. So I ask you what the problem is, I advise you and make you smile again. That smile brings a new life to me. It makes me realize that I finally have someone to care about. Gives me the slightest sense of purpose. Our bond thickens. Strangers become best friends.
We talk with each other for a couple of months. We get closer with every word we speak. Our bond gets thicker and thicker and one day, our bond passes the limit of friendship. We become lovers. A love that would never succeed.
Days pass by, and we realize that it would never work out. We let each other go, hoping that things will be better soon. I turn my back on you, on all the tears you were shedding for me. I close my eyes, tears crashing down and I silently ignore your voice begging me to come back. I leave you, with the belief that you will have a happy life without me. You deserve better than me. All I did was steal the blood from your veins in the form of tears. You deserve someone who could make your blood flow, not steal it. Still, even though I left, I never stopped loving you. I never could. You were the most important person in my life, you are, and you always will be. You are everything to me, and I will always love you. But I am not the one for you. We go back to being friends, with darkness engulfing our lives. Lovers reduce back to friends.
Months later, months after being best friends, after sharing laughter and tears, you come running to me with a smile on your face. The biggest smile I have ever seen on your face. You hug me tight and, with bubbling excitement, you tell me, “Good news. I got a boyfriend”. I smile at you, tell you that I am happy for you, and I turn back so that I could hide my tears from you. I touch your face for the last time, and I walk away. I go home, load the gun, and I point it at my head. But I don’t pull the trigger because I still have hope. I know we could never meet again. So I pick up the phone and drop you a message. You reply one hour later. I drop another message, and you reply the next day. Your replies continue to delay. Three days, one week, one month, one year, five years and finally, never. Strangers, again.
Years later, I see you standing there, dressed in white. You hold hands with a man dressed in black. The choir sings, church bells ring and the pews filled with people with smiles. I sit in the last row and watch you exchange vows and rings. You walk down the aisle, amidst smiles and flowers. I watch you from far, and you catch a glimpse of me. You shout my name, but I don’t hear. The crowd engulfs you and I disappear.
Sometime later, you are shopping at a supermarket. You see a guy at the other end of the aisle. He seems familiar to you. You walk over to him, but he turns around and walks away. You try to go behind him, but your two kids run towards you, each carrying a bar of your favorite chocolate in their hands. The chocolates I gave them. You ask them who gave them the chocolates, and your younger son replies, “it was the man who was here just a while ago”. You search for me all over the supermarket, trying to find out who this mysterious man is. But I was gone.
Many years later, you are lying on your deathbed, all alone, in a hospital ward. Your children and grandchildren are outside the room. No one dared to come in. Your eyes are wide open, but your vision is blurred. You hear the room door opening and footsteps walking in. You see the blurred image of a man. He holds your hand, and a warmth runs through you. You feel the hand gripping yours softly. Your vision clears, and you see me. You try to speak, but the words don’t come out. My hand is the last thing you feel.