The Last Tears

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 50; the fiftieth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. In association with ​Soulmates: Love without ownership by Vinit K Bansal. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. 

‘The Last Tears’

He couldn’t understand how she could do such abominable thing to him – leaving him, all alone to face the cruel dimensions of life and world. It wasn’t the cruelty and pain he feared. It was the knowledge of facing them alone. Without her. 40 long years. How could she give that up, easily? How could she leave him without a fight? Why didn’t she fight with Death as Death’s deadly fingers embraced her soul? Why? She should have, at the very least, brought him along.

He shook his head. 40 years was very short. He needed more with her to add more memories. He sighed, thinking about their life.

He didn’t build any architectural wonders for her, but she had said that she didn’t need such fleeting mementos, when he regretted his failure. She had said that his words were enough, as she hugged him one day and cried in his arms, and said that it was happiness.

When they couldn’t give birth to a child, his mother had forced him to marry another girl. He couldn’t imagine such things. A child was a proof of love; a proof conceived out of love. If their love couldn’t create that precious gift, it was okay. As long as they were together, it would be okay. He had said so and she had cried in his arms, and said that the tears meant love.

Like the milky white wings of an wounded bird, their love was both flawed and flawless. At times, they fought with fury. They misunderstood. It was part of the endless game. When they fought, stretched the war for days and when he finally admitted defeat, she would kiss him with the salty tears and said they were tears of relief and respite.

When the lonely days of life became too much, she wanted more than him. He decided to give her that. When they came back, bringing a little bundle of joy in a pink gown, home, from the orphanage, she leaned against his shoulder, holding her new daughter close and cried; she said it was tears of gratitude.

Her tears had vast array of emotions underneath them – love, care, happiness, delight, sorrow, grief, gratitude… And she shared all her tears with him.

That woman, the one supposed to be here with him, always, was now gone. Vanished like a distant dream.

It had been three days. Three days of suffocating pain. Everything was over. Bustling people had finally vacated and he truly felt alone, at this moment.

But… He could feel her soft breath, now, ruffling his hair. He could hear her melodious laughter, as she leaned behind his back and looked down at his face… He could feel the smile in her lips.

  ‘This is first time you cried. This is the first tears you’ve presented me, after 40 long years of endless waiting.’ He could hear her whisper.

His hands touched his cheeks and he was startled to find he was, indeed, crying. The salty taste of the tears, the wet drops rolling down- they were proof of their love. HIS LOVE…

He wanted to say he regretted it; regretted never letting her inside his tears, but all that came out was a loud, voiceless sob, as tears flowed like an endless stream.
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© Ada