The Monologue Of A Broken Heart - A Fictional Story By Ms. Madhavi Deshpande

DISCLAIMER

This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents in this Story are either the product of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and unintentional.

It is not the first time in so many days that I visited the beach and cried.

It is not the first time in so many days that I visited the coffee shop and cried.

I have almost stopped keeping track of the number of times that have I spent wallowing for her. Pinning for her. All the time controlling myself from hating her.

I never knew that a broken heart could torment one so much or that memories of our togetherness could haunt me so much. I had loved her so intensely that as per nature’s love of ‘equal and opposite reaction’, I suffered in equal measures when she left me.

No wonder my love turned to hate.

Strangely, I felt that I did not love her less now, I only hated her more. It is this ‘little love’ left in a corner of my heart that becomes the crux of my misery.

After she had left me, I was left with nothing but memories of our time together. Memories, dear to me once, now started strangulating me with their mere presence.

When I now sat on the beach, facing the unending ocean, like I used to sit with her, I remembered how she used to play like a wanton, free child on the beach, writing our names in heart shapes on the sands. She used to look so beautiful, her long hair blowing on her face, that I used to have a difficult time concentrating on what she was saying. 

Many times I did not look at the beauty of the ocean in front of me. Instead, I saw the vastness and emptiness of the sky in her profound silence, I read the mystery and the depth of the ocean in her dark brooding eyes, I saw the loneliness of a singular boat in her faraway look, and I read the uncertainty of nature in her hesitant, girlish giggles.

Now, I sat in our favourite position on the beach, holding in my closed fist, a small pebble that she had gifted me. “I want the ocean to be a witness to our love” she had said briskly as if she did not trust any human as a witness.

But only the huge ocean and a humble pebble!

Today, I sat clutching and unclutching my fist, to hide and reveal all that the pebble meant to me. To both of us. And once more I cried, thinking of all that I had lost ………….along with her.

There were times when she could be perfectly silent amongst hoards of people and all that I could hear was only her sound.

Her sound of silence.

I even understood it! Every word of it!

Spoke in silence.

For love has no language, no words! 

It is only for those who cannot hear the unspoken words in silence, that language is required. No wonder people could love and live contently even before language was invented!

We used to be in our favourite coffee shop. In our favourite corner. She swirled her cappuccino with a spoon, looking at it intently though her attention was distant. It is in these silences that she revealed a lot more to me. Instinctively, I knew that she was a troubled soul and her laughter and smiles were only prefixes. Masks for the world, who judged people on their ‘face value’.

For them, she maintained those smiles.

With me, she had bared more than just her clothes.

I could see her thoughts roaming in her mind, sometimes leisurely like taking a stroll in the park, sometimes speedily as if they wanted to catch a train. “You are the first to see them” she had confided in me once when she had realized that I could now see more than just herself. It was then that I advised her to 'stop thinking too much out of genuine concern.

Today, as I sat in the same coffee shop, in the same corner, I remembered the day, when she sat fidgeting with her coffee with a spoon, swirling it, as if she wanted to change something but could not. And had understood that all that she could change in the world would be her coffee’s taste.

She had handed me a few sachets of sugar and had said “Use it when you want to make it sweeter” and I had wondered whether she was referring to only coffee specifically or life in general.

Today, as I took out the same sachets of sugar from my jean's pocket and looked at them, I wondered ironically 'Why the hell had she made my life so bitter?' And had cried once more, though not a single tear came out in response. 'Had I become so empty inside?' I had mused in deep worry.

Months later……

One day I realized that the only way I could get ‘over her’ was when I would let go of ‘our memories’ permanently.

It was then that I realized that the only things that were holding me back, apart from memories, were symbols of our love, those little sentimental things attached to those memories that I had zealously guarded so far.

Some unknown dormant energy that I did not even know existed inside me, thrust me into action, and minutes later, I found myself at our favourite spot on the beach. Slowly, very reluctantly I removed the small pebble from the safety of my pocket and threw it back in the ocean……………letting it go……with the ever-changing waves…………into eternity.

In the coffee shop too, I did the same…………. I sat at our favourite corner and slowly, very reluctantly removed the sugar sachets from my pocket and emptied everything in my coffee………….letting it go………..all her memories……all our love………letting it dissolve…..in the cup……….wishfully hoping that my bitter coffee and my life……..may become sweet once again!