“I’ve got something to share with you,” he says. “Let’s say this is a confession.”
He locks me right on the spot of a dark confession ward, which I know I don’t belong and never will be qualified to attend.
“There was a time, four years ago, I think, when I couldn’t imagine someone else was going to replace my position…”
He stops mid sentence.
I know he’s playing words with me, so I play my role.
“You’re not a bit interested?”
I grin. Not another boring confession, I thought.
He continues: “Time is absolutely the best healer of all histories.”
“Not necessarily. Only if you let it go”
“I left her four years ago.”
“Ellen never fell in love with you. She abandoned, ignored you.”
“I’ve still got the chance then, if I wanted.” He argues. This is a bitter man speaking.
“If she was so deserved all the strength in the world, why you gave up on her?”
“Four years ago, I tell you, I couldn’t bear someone else going to stand next to her (replacing my position), holding her hands, exchanging the wedding vows, which should be rightly our vows.” his voice lowers, and his eyes misty.
He was silent for a couple of seconds more.
“But then came those deciding moments, knocking on your door; it just dawned on me that it was time to move on with my life.
But we’ve just returned from Ellen’s wedding, our mutual friend. And one hour ago, when the wedding vows were exchanged, I saw him stand and go to the toilet instead. He left his camera on the chair.
“The point is: I thought I was fully recovered, and that Ellen was no longer dominating my thoughts. But this morning at 10.50 I was wrong, totally wrong.
“Now I know: you can’t simply forget the persons that once resided into your heart.
“They became the guests of your life, whatever the memories they brought into you.”
I hug him and say my only words: “I’m sorry.”