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जाने दो मुझे

I forgive you. Okay, that's not quite true yet. I have my nights of irrepressible rage and heartache, but I want to get there. Someday, I will. I hope you find yourself on the receiving end of everything you've ever wanted. You deserve it all, you always have.


 

I started watching Scandal again tonight. A colleague once told me people who feel the need to go back to reruns seek psychological safety. Quelle surprise, huh? But I digress. Somewhere amidst all the, um, scandal, they have this moment. They sit together, holding each other. Just that, one minute. It's morally unscrupulous, they know the odds are stacked against them, and yet, it feels tender. Something you'd want to root for, something you wish would pan out, but something wrong. Guess love has its fifty shades of grey too. A little too familiar for my liking. A little too painful.


I wonder if you remember how I grieve. My body physiologically reacts to misery, and my heart, sunk as it gets, aches. Literally. Of course, that could be attributed to my family history of cholesterol and hypertension, but it sure has a funny way of flaring up only when I'm dealing with a tragedy.


There's another scene etched in my memory, this one from a cult movie. A man. A woman. Love story that never got a chance. He runs to her place, has her hold his hands in hers, and tells her to let him go because he can't do this anymore. Asks her to remain strong in case he falters. Profoundly poignant. There might have been a time where I thought it too be a little too dramatic for my taste, but you know what? I get it now.


Because I don't know. I don't know what to do. I always thought of myself as a certain kind of person. Principles I'd stand for, and things I'd walk away from without ever looking back. Well, if that were true I wouldn't still be here doing this. I can't even explain it to myself anymore. You know what? I'm sorry, I lied earlier. There has not been a second where I've even begun to forgive you. Irrepressible rage and heartache, that's all it is. And hatred. For this power I seem to have given you over myself. For your friends who stalk me because you perhaps spoke about me the night before. For how all I can think about even presently is your mental wellbeing. For having to live with the fact that I am hurting people who deserve better. Towards you for not being able to stick to the one favor I asked you for. Towards myself, because I still don't write as fervently unless I know you're out there somewhere reading what I have to say. For everything that has befallen us. Maybe I'm just hormonal, and all of this goes away tomorrow. But tonight? Tonight, I sit here, a heart too painfully heavy, a soul too broken for tears, and a mind trapped beneath my anguish.

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