Life After Love

I stood outside her door, fists clenched at my sides and hair heavy with water, begging to be let inside. The rain beat down in a steady rhythm against my head, seemingly reminding me of the heartache I felt inside. The rain pelted against the ground in the same way that my fists pounded on her door. Trying to figure out how to make someone, anyone, listen to one single word that I was trying to say. And like my fists were pounding on the cold wood that seperated love from loss, my heart pulsated against my chest. Letting me know the pain that it was enduring. It seemed uncanny that I would be the one standing outside her door in the pouring rain, begging for forgiveness. But there I was, talking to the door. Taking my frustration out on the door. Pouring my heart out, with the only hope being that she was on the other side. That the words from my soul weren't falling on deaf ears.

"Please baby, I am so sorry." These words rolled acridly from my lips, my frustration starting to show in my voice. I never was one to apologize, and when I did it was because I was sure I would be forgiven and I thought it was the only way to get someone to get over the stupid things I had done. But I guess when you're faced with the harsh reality of losing someone you would give your entire being to, admitting you're wrong is something you don't even have to think twice about. Even if there is only a slight possibility that she may forgive all the stupid shit you've said and done. I knew I screwed up. No matter how hard it was for me to admit. I was just a boy, trying to be the best man I could be, standing in the hammering rain, begging for a second chance from the love of my life.

In one sense of the word, I never got that second chance. To tell you the truth, I don't even know if she ever forgave me. She never opened the door. I sat on her porch until early hours of the morning. The rain sporatically fell, in the same way my tears did through the long hours of the night. Often drenching my heart and allowing the words to slide effortlessly from my lips. In another sense of the word, that was my second chance. Her letting go was possibly the best thing that could ever have happened to me.

That was the night I learned the meaning of love. And in the same foul swoop, I learned the meaning of a love lost. But I also learned that there is life after love, and if you give it a little bit of time, your wounds will heal. I've moved on, and I'm sure she has as well. Because that's what life is about. Love and loss. And you haven't really lived until you've experienced both.