With Regret in the Air

It just seemed like the perfect time. We were all alone, in that room impregnated with regret. You were asking if I was sure about taking the next step, whether I really wanted to be with you regardless of your condition, and I was trying to avoid answering your question with any degree of certainty. I kept thinking that in the five years that I had known you, I never before wanted to be with you so much. Yet, I had a history of messing things up and totally blowing it with you. I had sabotaged our fragile relationship time after time, to the point where we stopped talking for almost two years. I could hear my heart telling me that this was probably my last chance, and that I didn’t need any more regrets than the ones already pestilent in the air.

In my attempt to distract you from the matter at hand, I accidentally brought up  some painful thoughts that drove you into tears. It wasn’t my intention to make you cry. It wasn’t my intention to hurt you in anyway. But it was a good thing anyway that we talked about the things that were in your mind — about how your so-called friends abandoned you after your accident –, as it was time to let it all out.  I mean, yeah, true, you were in a wheel chair. And true, your motor skills weren’t perfect, but you were still you. You were still the innocent, fun, good-hearted pretty girl who loves to dance and has more faith in God than the whole world. But those bastards, those cowardly friends of yours who looked the other way when you were in trouble, they didn’t know you like I did. They hadn’t seen that in you rested more hope for the world that in their fancy churches and expensive schools. They hadn’t seen that who you are, whether in a wheelchair or not, would never change. At that moment, I held your hands with my right hand, and cleared the tears from your adorable face with my left hand. I could feel your frustration, disappointment, and even anger in every one of those tears that smelled of unfairness. The world had abandoned you, but I hadn’t.

I refused to give up hope. I knew you would walk again someday. I knew that with all the faith that you had, it was only a matter of time before the Lord healed you. In the mean time, I wanted to be there for you. I wanted to be with you. What I didn’t know, however, was how to tell you with words what I was feeling. How could I tell you that I loved you, and that it didn’t matter to me if you stayed in a wheelchair forever, and make you believe me? I couldn’t. That just wasn’t possible. So, I had to show you.

The moment was so perfect. You trusted me fully even if it was for a second, even though you had a thousand reasons not to believe a single word I was saying.  I knew I had to take a chance. I stood up by the chair, and just went for it. I put my left hand behind your neck, and tilted your face upward. Then, before I knew it, I was kissing you. I was once again touching your cotton-candy lips, canceling with your sweet love the bitter taste of regret in my mouth. I wished I had done this sooner. I wished that I had never left you in the first place. I wasted two years of my life without you, but I could have you back this time. So I went for it, an with my hand on your fragile neck, I kissed you, and you kissed me back. We kissed on that sad night, in the room of the continuing care center in which you cried. We kissed and all that sadness went away, and all the regret dissipated from my mind, from my mouth, and from the air. We kissed and I knew, I just knew, that taking this chance was about to become the best decision I would ever make….

About Gabriel Mongefranco

Gabriel Mongefranco is your software developer for all things data: extraction, integration, analytics and security. He is also a blogger, a poet, a proud father and a faithful Christian. He is always eager to contract with faith-based nonprofits! Learn more.