A Twist of Fate ✔

Preface

Perfect is such an overrated word; majority of the time, when you come to terms with what it truly means, you realize that nothing is perfect. The expression is merely an exaggeration desperately smeared over the ugly reality that is: everything is contaminated with defects. It's only sometimes, they're hiding in those dark corners we subconsciously avoid. And because of how we're mechanically driven to pursue this fairy-tale of everlasting bliss, we frantically delude ourselves by recalling only the good moments that occur. Anything even remotely flawed is either blocked out of our brain or twisted in such a disfigured way that it also gets counted as something positive. So naturally, most of us live in oblivion until that awakening slap drags us out of our ridiculously long daydream. Realizing you've been asleep most of your life is a difficult pill to swallow.

So, in the end, you cannot use the word 'perfect' without either being an utter fool or a liar.

I, personally, despised the word. Once upon a time, it held a permanent spot in my vocabulary. I would grin widely, my heart would blithely pick up its pace, a glimmer would twinkle in my eyes, and I would happily think: "My life is perfect! My relationship is perfect! Everything is perfect!"

Now, as I clutch the photograph in my hand and tears obscure my vision, I realize how stupid I had been to think the so-called perfection I believed I possessed would stay with me forever... I was ignorant to think that I could control life, more specifically, my life... I was selfish to be angry at my fate... And I was crushed when I came to the deafening realization that no matter what I did or how I felt, I couldn't fix this. I couldn't go back in time and change the way things turned out.

So why couldn't I just accept the facts and move on?

Why was it that every time I closed my eyes, I saw that person? That person who brought light into my life, who changed me for the best, and yet who after all that we've been through, left me... deserted me. Without so much as a 'goodbye'. I was stranded in an empty desert where I waited and called, but the only response I got was my delayed echo. It was as if it was scolding me, annoyed, trying to drown my pathetic cries.

I was taught in my religion to accept whatever life throws your way, be it good or bad, as an inevitable fate that was written explicitly for you. I had to trust in God that He knew what was best for me, despite how dark and helpless some moments appeared. I had to believe in Him. After all, in the end, He was all I had left. It was this spiritual bond that kept me from going over the edge, that gave me a little morsel of comfort deep, deep within the broken tatters of my heart. 

Everything happens for a reason.

The crumpled photograph dropped from my trembling hand onto the clumped mud. Rain was beginning to fall, third time that week, and I was completely drenched only seconds later. Yet the salty tang that filled my mouth was unquestionably not from the rain. The wind roughly attacked me, its' cold invisible arms shoving me backwards, as if telling me to go home. It's over and done with, it taunted me, what difference will it make if you stay standing here and catch hypothermia?

Maybe then the pain eating at my heart will finally cease...

The thought was fleeting and uncertain; it was one of those things that you felt deeply ashamed about even allowing to cross your mind. I knew that death wasn't the end of things, far from it. It was the beginning of something more extraordinary, graver, and being separated from someone was the least of your concerns. Yet sadness somehow finds a way to rid you of reason. If allowed, it'll suffocate you and take control, pushing you into a corner where you're held captive by none other than your own internal nemesis: memories.

Because nothing is worse than being stuck in the past.

My naked heels sunk into the moist earth beneath me as I turned around and ran without a backwards glance. My knees were viciously shaking; it was like I was balancing on Jell-O. I was caught between the urge to give in to the tiredness that numbed itself around my heart or continue holding on to that little spark of hope and pull through.

It seemed impossible though. The little voice in my head taunted me. Is there hope? Is there truly a light at the end of this tunnel? You can't rewind, you can't re-do. You can't bring back what you lost.

Who you lost.

Even as the rain grew heavier and the sun disappeared behind the angry clouds, the picture shone rebelliously against the grey downpour; the droplets staining the couple's happy faces made it seem as if they were crying. It was a simple picture. The man had almond-shaped grey eyes and a single dimple that nestled beneath his high cheekbones as he grinned into the camera lens. His arm was slung loosely yet possessively around a woman's shoulder. She wasn't looking at the camera and instead her big doe-like eyes were staring lovingly at the man. She was smiling too; but it wasn't because of necessity. Anyone who took one glance could tell she was in her own little bubble, high off love.

To sum it up, the couple looked perfect. 

It was true. We were perfect.

If only I could go back in time...