"Love means never having to say you're sorry."
— Erich Segal
H is walk from the water edge to the rock where I sit was like forever. Then, I felt his warmth, his skin lightly touching mine. He sat next to me. Gently, he took my hand, kissed it, and pressed it against his chest. I froze. I felt my hand sweat. The back of my hand could feel the rapid beating of his heart while he rubbed his palm on mine with his other hand.
Slowly, he tilted my head. I stared at him. His eyes, red and filled with tears that poured like the first rains of May. His piercing gaze did not show any remorse or expression that I’m scared to see, but a plea to perceive him as he is and not as someone else in my past.
In my previous relationships, I’ve been through a lot. I was hurt, even betrayed. Amidst all that, I stood up high and mighty. I ignored the pain. I brushed off the hurt. I thought I survived it all and emerged unscathed. Little did I know that I only swept off the pain under the rug. Every time I feel a love budding, shadows of the past dominate my thoughts until my mind turns into a monster that crushes the petals before they bloom.
As I realized this truth, I recalled our arguments. The words he said, his reactions, were they really an affront on me? Was he the one who thought that I meant to attack him with my words or I thought that way? Alas! The hurt I felt, the pain that emerged are not his own doings but rather the remnants of my past.
Now, as I looked at his eyes I started to see the real him and how he tried to reach out to me so I will know his unadulterated self. His stares, so deep, as if forcing me to see the real him.
When I moved towards him to give a tight embrace, he grabbed me instead, putting my head on his shoulder and planted a long soft kiss on my forehead.