The scalding, rogue tears welling in her eyes do nothing to assuage the manifold muddling emotions threatening to overwhelm Anasuya*. Thoroughly sodden with despair, the catharsis that is weeping is not hers for the taking just yet.
She is irked, irate at her having cast mere cursory glances at the bunting of red flags that mushroomed ornately the last couple of weeks, months.
She is mentally maimed by her feigned but nonetheless fortitudinous display of complacency in the face of an unrelenting sense of dread & premonition that had insidiously began garnering momentum & gnawing at her very psyche.
It is the curse of the unenviably sentient, to know.. but to heed she did not and instead opted to persevere in faux ignorance for the sake of love and on the off chance she was sadly mistaken. Yet even such keen awareness & sage wisdom borne out of prior experience could not adequately proffer respite at the utter devastation that was her having been unceremoniously dumped by a man she quite simply had faith in.
Perhaps the demise of that relationship was inevitable for a die was cast the precise moment when she knowingly allowed herself to wax painfully vulnerable by glibness’ cunning. Alas, it was her contention that his being a savant, with a moiety of it having been borne out of ripening age would have been a good indicator of the true character of the man.
Or is it that a restive heart yearning to love and be loved saw what it wanted to see..heard what it wanted to hear?
Admittedly, she knows that the prospect of love anew reopens old wounds..she knows that she could have exercised rectitude and ergo avoided touching him on the raw but good sense swiftly interjects her ruminating to gently remind her that true love is when another takes the time to examine without prejudice, habitually clean & dress that wound, it forgives, it proves not fickle but fecund in intensity when things go awry. It ultimately understands and proffers respite. It makes victors of us, not victims.
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