"To live life over again...”

What he would give to be with her again; they were so good for each other. Apparently, they grew too close, but not only did she initiate the closeness, she also encouraged it. Taking lead from her, was it his fault for going with the flow? No, I don’t think so. Young lovers are inseparable, but these things change. Sometimes, they change for the better. Other times, they change for the not so good. One day, he went for a short break. When he returned, things were not so cool. The flame was exhausted overnight. What a shame.

He stands lonely in the dark whilst reminiscing about the past: the good times when little things would make him smile. He’s stuck in a time warp; so he can’t let go of the past. This isn’t how things are supposed to be though. But he’s a nice guy; that’s what he does, how he feels.

Should she come crawling back to him, he should just flip his middle finger, and watch her cry. But that would never happen. No, never. He could never do that to her because he still holds feelings for her: feelings that are deeper than what the common stranger can ever perceive.

It's now a whole month since they fell apart, a whole month. Each to a different direction. It wasn’t his choice. Do you notice how she never discusses these things with you first? It’s because she knows your response: a strong protest.

Chin on hands, elbows on table. He sits alone at a table in a bar. Instinctively, the radio is turned on, and you know what happens next? Her song is played. No wait, let me get this correct. Your (plural) song is played. How ironic. That’s right: the most beautiful song ever rendered has now been completely ruined by he, she. All the things that made him fall in love with her are now recreated in slow motion and in time with the evil music. The guy has a spaced-out look as he reflects the good times. His heart tears away slowly as he thinks: bit by bit. He comes to his senses, blanks out the music, and vacates his solitary table.

This shouldn’t be happening either. No, it should be her who suffers. She should be the one picking up the pieces of the damage caused. Instead, it’s the nice guy’s job to try to make amends. He’s doing the thinking, the suffering: paying penance for her part.

His friends tell him that it wasn’t his fault: that it was her fault, like it means something. He knew this would happen. He knew that by opening up to someone like that, that there was always a chance for him to be hurt once again. But he was hopeful. Hope is what disappointed him. The inevitable theory: whatever looks like it will happen, will happen. The unwritten law of nature states this. The lesson, then, is that people never learn. Ever.

People are persistent. Stubborn, if you will. Guy gets bitten by a snake; it hurts. What does he do? He finds another snake, and essays if it does the same. Refusing to believe that if you stick your hand out in front of a snake, that it will bite... the guy’s search for the snake that won’t bite continues forever more.

The guy is crying inside, but you can’t see it. He reveals his private emotions in the absence of the watchful eyes of his friends: the same ones that tell him things will be alright. He cries at night in his sleep. His pillow becomes his new best friend. His heart is left cold and lonely. Appearances are trivial; it’s what's inside that counts.

He should hate her, he knows this. He’s been saying this to himself for the past few weeks. Days. Hours. In his mind, he can picture it. He should turn himself into a cold, heartless, killing machine - but he knows he can’t do this. Only in dreams, would he ever choose to behave irrationally. The feelings are still there; they may not be visible, but they’re definitely there. Pushed back into the very depths of his mind, and buried underneath a sea of mixed and blurred emotions in his heart. The flame still burns, even if it is almost out, but what he would give to rekindle the flame. He can’t move on because when he gave his heart to her, she took it away and never returned it.

The answer is presented to the world. He’s standing on the balcony overlooking a peaceful, garden park. People walk by behind him a hundred yards or so. A wave of pigeons glides overhead. The sun is shining calmly. It’s a new day and a new life. Couples walk side by side, hand in hand - and in love. So cute together. He smiles to himself; nobody notices. Deep inside, he knows that wherever he goes and whatever he does, he still holds a very special place for her in his heart. One day, maybe - just maybe - she might realise this and come back to him.

“To live life over again…” The Misfortune, Anton Chekhov.