October 13, 2015

Irrevocable: To the Ones Who Made Mistakes.

Aditya Rakhman/Flickr


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We spoke on the phone last night and made official what was already true in practice: A break. Distance. Space.

“You’re a good man,” I said, “but you did a really selfish thing.”

I don’t know if my tears were for the beauty we had lost, the sure future now obscured or the immense pain of that betrayal—maybe all of it.

“You can’t undo what you did.”

I said little more and went to bed soon afterwards, but my heart wrote volumes upon the walls of sleep…

No—it wrote—some choices are irrevocable.

Some things cannot be undone, my love.

Hearts cannot be unbroken; tears cannot be unshed. We can only grow, and heal, and mend.

We all cause pain, my love—in every chapter of every life of this inimitable existence, we all make “mistakes.”

You can’t erase them; “sorry” doesn’t burn this page. Some things cannot be undone, my love, and this is one of them.

I dreamt I took your life—a heart for a heart that would be. I cannot take it back, my love—the blade I drove through your chest. You cannot take them back any more, the marks you left on me.

Maybe when these lines have faded, puckered to white and smooth—maybe we can try again.

Maybe I can forgive you; maybe for a moment—or a lifetime—we can forget. But this cannot be undone, my love; the ink has already set.

Our choices are irrevocable. We can never turn around. Never was this truth more palpable, than when you let me down.

No, we cannot turn around my love, but we can rise above. The path behind is what it is. The path ahead is love.

So turn your page, and I’ll turn mine, and maybe our verses will once more intertwine.

Go with love, and go with peace, and may these choices bring the lessons we seek.

To those who are suffering from their mistakes or others’, that is my message for you:

We cannot turn around,

but we can rise above.

The path behind is done;

The one ahead is love.

May the pages you write be filled with the wisdom of the ones that came before. Every line that we etch into our bones has meaning.

May we find it.


Relephant Read:

This is what Betrayal Feels Like.


Author: Toby Israel

Photo: Aditya Rakhman/Flickr // Aditya Rakhman/Flickr


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