I reclined under a shed of a lonely tree. And the memory of the past streamed in like dream. She left me when she found a wealthy man, not so long ago. I haven't forgotten my love yet. I can never erase her from my mind, it seems. I've tried, because it's so hard not being with her. But she won't ever come back. That much I am sure. I see her everywhere, always. I take a walk, and her beautiful image is everywhere. On the sidewalks, on the rocks, in the trees. In the voices of the people who pass by.
Love is easy. Love is difficult. Love is love. When else is love? To love and to be love, they say, is all we need, all we need is love. Love is suffering too. When love go away, all else leave save pain. And the one devil that's ready to befriend the grief of a loner is the pub and everything that comes with it. You drink your conscience away, scoop your heart out and leave it to be scorned by everyone. You walk home, but the pain is still there. The pain of love abandoned.
There, in the pub, there are those of your kind pouring pains. But there are moments of silence too, When the memory of your love barge in, no excuse. More pain, more tears, more drinks.
Her beauty walks in. it did last night, like it does every moment of my lonely life. Her beauty that outshines the moon and gives life and colour to everything she touches. Her beauty that transcends beauty itself. But never will I have her again. Gone. That's the reason. Is that not a reason enough?
Fate the devil! Sometimes, I try not to believe in it, fate. I don't want some mysterious hands of destiny govern my life and everything that's connected to me. But, wanting not to believe doesn't help. Things continue to happen, for good or for bad. Acceptance, is that defeat? What is consolation then, when none is forthcoming to the lovelorn?
I'll think my way about her to perdition, that's what. I've made my mind. I am determined. This, fate shall have none whatsoever to do with it. I'll remember her in good faith, mock her memory, fling her out and torture her image. That must give me great satisfaction and peace. Some respite that's been lone time due.
The one love I had taught me to hate. Her everything, absolutely. Thus, a man learns every day. Thus, a man becomes a beast. I love not anything. I only hate.
Kezang Dawa (driver) from BHUTAN
Author Notes: I am working as driver in BHUTAN, I love to write poem and short story.