I listened to the ticking of the bedside clock in the dead silence of the night, each repetitive beat filling me with fresh guilt, ache and remorse. How I wished to travel back in time to that careless moment, erase it and then change the course of events to a much happier ending. In that case it wouldn’t have been an ending but a new beginning.
I understood very well the futility of these thoughts that haunted me every night, waiting to play in my head when I was alone. They were as meaningless as the desperation of an archer to take back the arrow he had shot. Like my wish to take back the tears I had shed. The words I had spoken. Perhaps my wounds were destined to remain raw and unhealed.
Words. They are so powerful, sometimes soothing and capable of healing. At other times hurting and capable of wounding. Little had I known this when I spat out words that pierced his heart like daggers. What had started off as a small difference of opinion soon snow-balled into a major fight. He chose to be silent but I spewed venom, coercing him to join the verbal duel.
Being his wife, I knew well what would hurt him. When he could take it no more, he walked out of our home. The clock ticked away and the world moved on but I remained. In the bottomless pit of remorse. Forever.
Vidya Subramanian is a a novice blogger and loves writing with a passion. She blogs at http://ofthisthatandjustabouteverything.blogspot.in