He was hurt. A long time ago. He still is. He still remembers everything. He remembers that he smiled someday. Shared that with someone. He wanted her to share every pain of hers with him. He doubts if he knows why she did not give him all his pain. He wonders why she left him. To bear all his pain herself, and to receive none of hers. He still prays that every pain of hers be bestowed upon him. He still prays for death every night. He doesn’t know if she was good, if her love was pure, or even if it existed. But he knew she had cried for him once. He wasn’t sure if his cries repeated over a hundred times in front of her eyes did matter to her. He doesn’t know if she did something wrong. All he knew was a guilt, the burden of which weighed him down every time he looked towards a girl. He could never love someone again. He could not let someone put him through all that suffering again. He could never touch a girl again, to be pressed down with the weight of ‘lust’ which the world would see. He could never forget the one, who had lifted him from the dust, and taken care of him, and ended him up in the dust again, only to be never lifted up again. And why not, had he not hurt her? Had he not broken her trust? Yes he had. And the price he had to pay for it should be more than a few slaps from her. It had to be greater than a kick when he fell on her feet with a face wet with tears, begging for forgiveness. It had to be greater than the pain in his chest, which forces tears out of his eyes. Yes he deserves more than that. But one thing that he did not want to happen, was to be disowned by her.
And he has already been.

By Ayush Ashish

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