Selfishness

He could not remember how long it might have been since she had gone. Thoughts of her came in waves of varying intensity, often appearing once every few weeks. This time, the stream of thoughts was overwhelming, leaving him defenceless, like a bird without feathers in the excruciating cold. He had drunk a fair amount. That was when he called me.

“She is crossing my mind again”, he murmured in a tottering voice. I was often the first person he spoke to when he was in pain.

“How is she doing it this time?” I asked.

“As I entered the hotel, someone in the lobby had the same scent as her. At first, I thought she was there, and I frantically looked around to find her. Before I knew it, I followed the scent, only to realise it was one of the concierge ladies. She was very kind and helped me with my luggage up to my door, but that made it worse.” He paused for a moment, perhaps stepping out onto the balcony for a smoke. “For that whole time in the lift, I felt as if she was by my side.”

“She is not here anymore”, I replied, “and I’m sorry to say it, but dwelling on her will not help you move on. Why do you always yearn for the impossible?” I hesitated briefly, realising that I might have let my frustrations slip out. In a faint, calming voice, I reassured him. “You have everything. At the very least, you have more money than you could ever spend, and you have the freedom to do whatever you want. All you have to do is enjoy it. Could you please try?”

“I have everything. If that’s true, then tell me, why do I get so hung up on her? Why couldn’t I let her go?” I could hear the high-rise winds sweeping across the balcony as a distant backdrop to his hoarse whisper. His sorrow blended with the veil of smoke.

“I can’t tell you, and you know that. The truth hurts. Getting hung up on someone impossible is not love. You fell for your imagination of her, and the life you could have had. You didn’t love her then, and you perhaps still don’t. This feeling is guilt and pity for yourself. Utterly, it is your selfishness speaking.” I murmured the words while feeling as if I was walking on eggshells. I did not want to hurt him. “Where are you now?”

“I’m staying in Marina Bay Sands tonight. Just smoking outside on the balcony. I’m looking at the bay now. I have everything, but I feel so hopeless”, he muttered, “as if there are no lights. It feels like I’m in complete darkness. But in front of me, far out in the nightfall, there are some lights on the sea. Perhaps they’re from some cruise ships. Have I told you that the most joyful memories of her and me were on a cruise ship together?”

Like a flash of lightning that struck without warning, the thunderstorm returned.

“Stop. Please stop.” I panicked. “Go inside. Please don’t do this.”

“No, I remembered that night. She was happy, and so was I.” His mind drifted further away while I panicked.

“Could you please stop? Please go inside. I beg you!” I pleaded to no avail.

“We were out drinking on the deck. She was so beautiful in the moonlight. Somehow, something pushed me to tell her I loved her for the first time. I had never told anyone but my mother that I loved them, but I told her that night. I even wanted to propose to her in the heat of the moment.” His voice warmed with a sudden cheer. “She was so happy when I said I loved her. We laughed and we danced. And we drank a lot. We drank too much. And she fell.” Now he panicked. “My god, she fell!”

“Stop. Please, don’t do this. We have been here before. Just stop.” I begged him, but he had realised it. It was too late.

“I killed her. I killed her. I killed the love of my life.” He seemed short of breath and started to weep. “I killed her. Why did I kill her, just after telling her that I loved her?”

“We have been here before, so many times. Please, I beg you. She is gone. She has been gone for a long time. You didn’t kill her. It was an accident.” I tried helplessly to calm him. “At least the last thing she heard from you was that you loved her. And you are still obsessed with her after so long. She is still here with us, in your thoughts. Isn’t that enough?”

“I loved her. But I killed her. We should never have been there. I should never have told her I loved her. If I hadn’t, we wouldn’t have drunk too much. I was selfish. That’s what killed her.” He continued to sob. “Tell me, what can I do about this grief? She is gone.”

“This is not love. You’re not longing for her. You’re longing for an exalted imagination of what could have been, which died that night with her. Can you please come to terms with it now? This anguish has gone on for too long. It is killing me. Please?” I cried.

“I don’t want to come to terms with it. Can I please stay in that night a little longer? I want to be with her.” He begged me as he continued to sob.

“It is killing me. You did not kill her, but you’re killing me. Every few weeks, or perhaps every few days now, you’re killing me. You’re killing both of us.” I pleaded in despair. “You realise that I don’t exist, right? There is only you.”