The Guilt That Haunts Me

An exigency of raging emotions.

I’m haunted. Not by man, no. It’s nothing human.

Hearts beating. Lips pursing. Legs shaking. Feet dancing. Hands trembling. Breath panicking. Chest heaving. Eyes darting.

The search for a place to hide.

A shelter. Some haven. A place of rest. Somewhere. Anywhere.

Not resting, still on the run, never waiting, no.

Guilt in pursuit, not relenting.

No matter how fast I run, how swift I move, how far I go, it keeps catching up with me.

Yesterday was a mistake. History recorded an error. A dead day.
Darkness. That was my world now. Literally and physically.
I knew it wasn’t a dream. It was real. All of it. Everything. And it was a total disaster.

The death of someone you love is the second worst thing on earth.
What’s worse? The evil. The hatred. The guilt that consumes you. The rage that burns inside you. The regret. The pain of not being able to help. The burden of not having power over life and death.

Worst thing is letting it hurt you so much that you die too.

Inside. Outside. Everywhere.

Twists you up inside, condemns everything you knew.

This is how I feel.

She was my definition of happiness. In her was the first ray ofsun I see—her smile.

More radiant than the golden rays of the sun that break the eastern sky at dawn.

She was my comfort. My home. My truth.

But this she never knew.

I never told her. I couldn’t bring myself to acknowledge how much she meant to me in her presence.

Never for once did I let out breath of the ecstasy she places me in. The life she builds within me. The hope, the love.

I was scared. Not because she was out of my league.

I was struck by the perfect dilemma of loneliness.

I had set my mind to loneliness. I was content, in a bitter way, to be discontent.
Over the years, I had thought I’d gotten used to this lonely life.
Accepted it the same lost way someone learns to accept going through life on a wooden leg.

In her arms was a man’s paradise. She lit flames and created roads in my dreams.

The kind that seems to stretch out like a long road, the kind that beckons you towards a wondrous thing so far out of reach that you’d almost forgotten it existed.

Almost spellbound, pale and plain came the news.

There was an accident. She was involved.

My heart ran races, my head threw somersaults. Went numb.

I couldn’t move, but mentally catalogued my body—from the strands of my hair to the tip ofmy toes to ensure I wasn’t grinded in a nightmare.

Did she survive?

She’s dead. Gone.

I’m haunted. Not by evil spirits, not by ghouls, not assassins, no.
But it’s worse. What haunts me would never let me go.

The universe has refused to exonerate me.

I’m burdened with grief. Weighed down by pain and haunted by guilt.

Don’t look for me. I’m lost.

Not on land, no.

I’m lost in my head.

I’m stuck at sea. Tied with so much pain that I cannot cry for help.
Birthed by her death, the haunt was born.

She’s gone.

Feels as though the lights went out. I’m hit. It’s hard. I’m down. It’s fatal. I vanished into the gloom of dusk.

Don’t look for me.

I’m lost.

I’ll never stop running.

I couldn’t save her.

I’m haunted by guilt.

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