why can't i change the past?

It was not meant to be. I could come back a thousand times and watch her die a thousand ways. I could never save her, not now, not ever, not this lifetime. It’s strange how a revelation should hit you and so many times over. I was just showering and remembered singing along to Justin Timberlake in the bathroom and my world changed as soon as I turned on the television and watched a poor but devoted man spent 4 years of his useful life inventing a time machine just so he could go back to saving his wife-to-be who died right after she said yes to his marriage proposal. Warm tears flowed without restraints down my cheek, not that I am any gorgeous and with a distinctive jaw line but they flow anyhow. The film is called The Time Machine, perhaps produced by the States as they always have such imaginative creative mind filled with agony and a desire to attempt the impossible, like bringing back the dead. And failing but always learning.

I used to ask, if I was any capable, if I could save her. I realized I probably couldn’t. And I hated it. I hated how I couldn’t do the slightest bit for her, after what she has given me. To think I yearned the power to resurrect but only her. She who gave me light and darkness, she who gave me black and white is not non-existent anymore. Memories of the past are as good as knifes if they were any tangible. It is astonishing how one could live like I did. Everything she once liked surged through my broken head. She has fancied roses, and specifically that of red and she was kind. Too kind for her own benefit some might say. And a coward like me is trying to fill her shoes just to fill my own soul. I don’t know what and who I am, if I am anything good. All I know is I am nothing without her and I know what people are going to say about that but nobody’s me. I can say and feel whatever I want because it’s just the way it is. And it’s foolishly hilarious; some time later I am not going to remember all this shit because I would have been dust by then. But till then.

I am still watching the film as I am typing this and it’s beginning to seem to be gravitating towards a more ‘the guy character has to save the world now’. And it is beginning to lose its meaning, for me anyway. It has become rather of the bigger picture which the selfish part of me refused to give a shit about. I am so not caring at all. Monsters are appearing, grabbing boys and girls and into sand pits. Maybe I should just turn off the darn TV and go to sleep. I’ll be waking in time to romaine lettuce and deciding between homemade mayonnaise and commercial.

All these years, I’ve refused to let go, of what is now a faint shadow of how things were. And I have fallen quite sick, I believe, relating to problems of the heart and breathing literally. In fact I am hardly breathing well at all. Sometimes when it happens, it was really unbearable. I mean, one should expect that when one can’t breathe.

I bear not the slightest idea how I've lasted so long, walked this far. I lacked greatly in every department possible and I am still lost. And I will die alone. Perhaps it is such blessing that I should bear this alone. I miss her.