Either Way

In the middle of some intimate act, she would often suddenly leave him panting for breath. Gasping too much to even ask that question. Why would she choose not to love him when she very well could. Loving wasn't that hard, in the first place. And loving him, the one guy who had stretched out his entire life before her, wasn't to be hard anyway. But she was too distracted, sometimes. Like in another world. Like this was not meant to be. Like she regretted the series of decisions she had taken that had brought her to him. He would often try, merely try to gather the courage to ask her, what was not right. But he was worried that question would make her introspect deeper and she would walk out, for all time. At whatever the cost be, he chose status quo, over everything else. Every other possibility of heart break.

She would often pause under the shower, while rubbing soap on her arms and stare at the mirror. Touch her wet hair and be drenched in regret. Why hadn't she done everything when she had the time and the chance to. Everything that had the possibility of companionship. And even love. The little expressions of affection, that she had forfeited, because she hadn't the intentions of making it known out of cowardice or outright laziness. Sometimes she wanted to know what courses their lives might have taken. Similarly, she wanted to loiter back to every such might've and could've and explore the mood swings of an unknown future. Instead of just sitting there and waiting, when she could have hugged a quaint promise.

The aforesaid stanzas of prose could be read in either order. May be she regretted in the shower first and then went to him, made him miserable and came back to regret in the shower again. May be she married the man, only to run away from him and regret it in the shower and then go back to him. It is like a vicious circle. The same act precedes and supersedes its counteract. What should I do with my life. Do I go either way.