Testimony of the Heart

The man sat down to write out his testimony, only to find the words would not come.  His heart was heavy with the perceived guilt of supplying a friend with information.  Only it wasn't ordinary information, it felt like backstabbing information, supplied against a man who had always been a friend.  Only the friend was now acting in a manner that was hurtful to the man.  And also to the friend's own family.  What to do?  Having been hurt by his father in such a way, only much more dreadful, it was impossible for the man to do nothing.  And so his heartache began.  Having a compassionate heart, the man began to feel sorry for the family of the friend, and for good reason.  The friend actually broke down to the man and said he had neglected his family and now felt guilty.  The reasons would come out later, and then the man felt worse.  The wife of the friend told him he was partially the cause of the problem, and more guilt arose in his heart.  Now he was beginning to feel confused.  Was she attracted to him?  The man had no idea how this could happen.  He had introduced the wife and his friend a lifetime ago, so it seemed.  And now it was his fault they were splitting up?  How did that come about.  The man had never been inappropriate with the wife.  Never made suggesting remarks about forbidden trysts.  Confusion welled up in the man, his mind reeled.  What had he done?  His friend would hate him.  Did the wife love him?  Should he just move away?  How had this situation come to be?  He would lose both friends, he knew.  But he could not lie.  It was hard to breathe, and thinking came with much effort now.  His fingers danced on the keys of the machine and he let his mind flow out.  He had to tell them all how much he loved them, and how he was sorry he had to leave this way.  But, of course, there were no words for him to find.  Better this way, he thought.  It wouldn't seem as if he was a coward if he held his peace, just this one time.  He had felt the weight lifting from his shoulders, and knew the poison was taking effect.  His mind and fingers ceased to race as his aching heart came to rest.  The life flowed out of the man.  Even as the love of his friends flowed away from each other.  The note he wrote would make no sense to those who found it.  For it was only a story, with no names, no places, no clues.  Not a suicide note.  Just a story.  The wife never knew the love he felt, the friend never knew his confusion.  Peace, ever sought out by the man, was finally his.  That is, as long as there is no hell for those who kill themselves.