Tears Speak Louder Than Words

Tears Speak Louder Than Words
There were large blots of moisture all over her letter I opened for a detailed perusal. They were more expressive than any other part of the composition before me: they showed me that she had been crying while drafting her epistle. The blots told a tale I could not hear her tell. The letter’s  words reflected only a part of the agony the poor girl went through at that time, and remains of her tears on the paper tried to say a bit more. All the same, I couldn’t do anything to help her out. I didn’t hold any rights to  do anything.



I badly wanted some more rights over her than what I already had. We were not related by a bond of blood, while a stronger gel held us together. I held very little rights over her being, her happiness and all that she went through every day. Somehow, I knew it wasn’t a very pleasant experience for her. Being married to someone she didn’t love woke up a lot of dissonance within her. To cap it all, I couldn’t do anything to help her out of her predicament. Being her ideal, I was supposed to hold all keys to all locks over her happiness.



I wanted to try at least a few keys to unlock her happiness. I wanted to be the agent responsible for propelling some sweet dreams through her vision while she slept. I wanted to be a protagonist in the play enacted behind her eyelids every time she went to sleep. I wanted to know all other protagonists too because I wanted to know all that made her happy. I wanted to make her happy.



I wanted to know all that had led to the deluge of emotions, only  a part of which was visible on her letter in the form of blots of ink. Many words were illegible because they had been blotted out. There was a comprehensive history behind them, I felt sure of it. I badly wish I could blot out the part of her life that had led to an erosion of words from her letter. I wanted her to be happy. I wanted her to be happier than me, happier than anyone else in this world.



I  knew I couldn’t do anything concrete about it. A large part of her happiness or misery depended on her past, and I didn’t have any control over her past. I had not been a part of it. I knew I saw her present spilled over her letter before me. she wasn’t happy because she was to be married to someone else.



I wanted to fill in all voids that are visible in her present and even those that are to be created in her future. I find myself unable to help her contest her past.  I don’t think I can do anything about her future. I could only offer her a virtual handkerchief to wipe her real tears.



She isn’t present with me. she isn’t here before me, but I can feel the anguish and trauma she has to go through every single day thinking of me. At times, I wonder if her tear-stained letter is an indication that she wants me to forget everything in our past and blot out everything like her tears blotted out some words in her letter.



All the same, she loves me, I don’t doubt it, but she cannot do anything about it. Neither can I.



I should be content in her loving me despite all the angst she feels.