Relationships: Two Red Lines And A One Coloured Rainbow

She stood by the post box, letter in hand, looking quite like a statue. Her eccentric, yet softly beautiful smile lingered only for a moment. Lost in a trance, her mind wandered, traversing backwards down memory lane. The past was recaptured in detail as moment-by-moment flash backs caused her eyes to sparkle, widen and/or squint erratically. She remembered the night in the hotel room.

They had had their moments, but that night was unusual. The intensity of the two hours they spent tangled in an untidy heap, looking like something out of the game- twister always left her with a longing she felt right in the pit of her stomach. The one thing she learnt that night was this: sex does not mean love. It was possible to have the most amazing, intense sex without the accompanying emotions that love brings. On the other hand, maybe it was intense for her, but not for him? This was a confusing thought because the look in his eyes bore into her soul. Whenever they looked at each other, she felt their souls communicate, besides eyes don’t lie, right?

Or maybe it was the fact that the news she brought him threw a spanner in the works. ‘That’s not possible. Two red lines? Positive?’ He asked. She nodded like he could see her. ‘What about my family?’ he asked. ‘What about our baby?’ she asked in return. His response? – ‘what do you mean our?’

She put the phone down and sobbed. A million teardrops, one broken heart, a severely dented ego, and an open, yet un-drunk bottle of brandy later, she did a diary entry. This diary entry would be the letter she would stand by the post box holding in frantically trembling hands.

‘A friend of mine always says to me that soul-mates do not exist. She says that all that fairy tale rubbish is fiction and belongs in Disney cartoons. I always say to her that once two souls connect, nothing can stop them from being together; that there are shades of grey, which only the two people in love can understand. Today, I find it is black and white. I find that you are either in or out and it’s as simple as that. I find that “it’s complicated” is either just an excuse to be a coward or your way of telling me that you just do not love me. I realise that when you love me in that bed, you are able to go home and love her, probably in the exact same way. I am hurting because every time you look me in the eyes, I am deceived into believing that you are the victim, because you are not able to tell the world about your love for me owing to your personal circumstances. Today I realise that I am the victim. I am the one who has put my life on hold in the hope that one day – one day you will do the right thing and realise that if we are together, nothing else matters. I now know that no matter how complicated the situation is, it is actually always quite easy. Either you love me, or you do not. So today, I will forget what your eyes say to me. I will forget what happens to my body when you pull me around my waist and into your arms. I will forget how short of breath I get when I suspect that you are going to kiss me. I will, in fact, forget the way you hold me after we have united our bodies. I am sitting here remembering our last night together. I believe it was in the course of the third go that night – when you told me you loved me – that was when our baby was conceived. I also realise that this was a fairy tale, which could only have existed in that moment. I will now stop replaying every second of those few seconds when you said those words to me – words I had ached to hear. Today I walk away from you and I take our unborn child with us. This is my closure. Right here – me, these two red lines, and my non-existent shades of grey!’

That indeed was her closure. She did post that letter.

Three days later, she awoke from the misery that had become her life. It seems unborn baby had decided to give her a break and she had been vomit free for 6 hours. This was worthy of celebration. She decided she would head out and pick up soft mints, a kit-kat chunkie and some vitamins. She even sang along to the radio after she realised that she could brush her teeth without the familiar nausea. Therefore, she sashayed across the room to the door until she froze in her tracks. The postman had been and there was a letter waiting. It was his handwriting. She sank unto her bed as her clumsy fingers repeatedly tugged at the envelope. On her fourth attempt, she opened it. It read:

‘Everything my eyes said was true. Every fairy tale we created was reality. When your heart sensed a response, it did not imagine it. It was the fifth time round that night – the time you wept as you gently called out my name – that was when we conceived this baby. All I wish is that circumstances were different. There are shades of grey babe. In our case – indecipherable shades of grey because if you think you are confused, you need to take a step back and walk in my shoes. Life is hell without you, but life with you does seem like a fairy tale. I do not understand. So now you have walked away, all I have is memories of your two red lines, this indecipherable shade of grey and a one coloured rainbow because as of now, I stare out my window reminiscing about the other night and realise that without you, my life has no colour!’

Her traitor heart rejoiced for a few minutes until she put her logical hat back on. What was he saying? He said nothing. Nothing! There was nothing indecipherable about the shade of grey. In fact, the situation had never been any clearer. She shook her head and ripped the letter into pieces.

The end? (Is it ever?)

Until next time, let’s dig deep!

Sally Chiwuzie


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