Curiosity kills the cat. Curiosity killed his all. He explored the world, saw all of the beauty the world has to offer, but left his relationship to die. His kids grew up without a father, and his wife was basically widowed. He had a dream, a dream of making it big. A childhood dream that he never stopped pursuing, but his obsession with his dream pushed everything away. He missed his mother’s last days, his father’s final breath, and his family’s dream of a final reunion. He was away, always away. 

Sometimes in Africa, sometimes in Asia, other times in America or in Europe, maybe Antarctica or the Arctic circle would be a great place to visit someday. He was never still, searching for a fortune that he believed was real. He despises boredom, and hopes for adventures. Some may say that home is where one’s family is, but for him, there was never home. His home was the adventures. Now old, and his adventures finished, he regretted everything. He was the most lonely he ever was. He pushed everything, everyone out of his life, and now he’s alone. His marriage was over. The once promised everlasting couple was crippled by his choices. His wife seeked out the love that he had taken along with him in his adventures, and found attention from others. His kids were angry for their father not being there. He formed many relationships on his adventures, but none of them ever connected with his heart the way that his family did. He remembered his joy when his wife, then girlfriend, accepted his proposal and the emotions he went through when his daughters were born. 

As he reminiscent, a single tear streamed through his winkle left cheek. His legs, once agile and strong, now shook uncontrollably. He stood over a cliff overlooking the ocean, the night warm salty ocean wind streamed through his white hair. The moonlight, the only light source present, was reflected by his hair and by his tears. Oh how he wishes that he could make things better! How much he wants to fix all of his past mistakes. To be back in the arms of the love of his life, to see the birth of his grandchildren, and to feel true love once more. He sat down on the cliff edge. His joints made horrible sounds at every movement. He brought his hands to his face, not sure what to do with them, as more tears started streaming down at a faster pace. He screamed, he shouted, he cried, and he started slapping and punching himself. His hatred for himself reached a new high as he reached a new low.

This went on for the whole night. The sun dawned, and the sunlight gradually replaced the moonlight. He felt his heart warming up from the frozen ice block it used to be, and a small smile appeared on his face. He had reached peace. A warm and small fire after a blizzard. The past can’t be changed, and the only thing that matters is the outlook of one on life. 

It isn’t what I should have done, but what I should do from now on, and how my reaction to certain situations affect others and myself. The old man may regret his past, but he needs to accept his past to move on. What is done is done, it can’t be changed, but what could be changed is his future. The burned bridge can’t be rebuilt, but maybe, just maybe, new bridges could be built from the ground up, new love could be found from anywhere, everywhere. Regret is normal, but you should stop dwelling too much or too long on it. Changes come from acceptance.                

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