Y Friday, January 30, 2009
2:31 pm
I watched as the hopefuls filtered in. Some alone, some in groups. Some confident, some unsure. Some would make it, and the rest won't, but they were all hopefuls, giving a shot at their paradise, which would turn out to be my nightmare, my hell.We all know the truth hurts. But today I've found out why. It's because every time something goes wrong, at its very base, the truth of it all, is that it was all your fault, and you know it. You can point fingers at people, objects or even God, but it slowly morphs to a mirror. Then you see that accusing visage, the damning finger, and it swallows you whole. It's all you, you and you. There's no running from it.
Who was I kidding? I'm not back to square one; I've never moved from square one. When you thought you've put it all behind, the past suddenly catches up to you, a cold grip on your shoulder when you least expect it. It wags its finger at you, shakes its head and tells you "We're not done, you and I."
Everything could have been different. It could have been so much more. No, it should have been. Not like the present. But things have a nasty habit of turning the way you don't want it to, and it's often a situation where there's no second chance, no opportunity to make things right again. Not even a trace of trash to hopefully salvage from. But you know you deserve it, every drop of that vile poison.
Rarely, you're allowed a little piece of heaven. A peek. A taste. More often than not, it serves as the sting of regret, a reminder of everything that has gone wrong. A little memento with the words 'the time to make a difference is over'. It is bittersweet, perhaps more bitter than sweet. But if it is all the delight you can find, should you hang on to it?
This is my abattoir of regret. The dream slaughterer, the hope ender.