An Ideal

Dear friend, I am sorry I wasn’t paying you the right share of attention as you poured your heart’s worth of sorrow over dinner that evening. It was drizzling softly, I bet you did not notice as you were doused in the memory of betrayal. It was the those poetic sort of rain that seem to whisper as they fall. Through the choir of playful voices, I heard you said “sacrifice”, “worthwhile” and “lifetime of happiness”. No, but that wasn’t right, you weren’t making a statement, were you sly fellow, you were asking me a question. “Sure it’s worthy”, I heard myself say, but you were dissatisfied. I looked at the vinyl table “cloth” and the deaden sheen of plants behind you, you did not know this, but as you attacked with your beliefs, I saw you sitting in that same position surrounded by magnificent greenery, blue-checkered linen spread on a beautiful wood-ochre tabletop, holding a glass of vintage red, while the sultry puffs from your cigar make love to the light rain out there. After some time, you started to ask if I was alright because tears started to appear in my eyes. I reassured you that it wasn’t your sad plight that had me tearing, but my eyes were just strained from peeling them wide. I was so afraid to blink because then, I’d have to accept the reality that spread before me.

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