The Coffee Joint

Introduction

(November 2013)
‘I am locked out of my work computer!’ exclaimed my partner. Normally I would ask him to try again in a few minutes and if failed, then to bring it into IT department at work the next workday. This time, it was different. I put my work aside and told him to let me give it a try. With hands on the keyboard about the ask for the password, I instead closed my eyes and sensed a presence, an urgent voice begged me to send an email for him. I invited him to step aside with me and let my partner work while he told me how I could help him. With him aside, I was able to log onto the computer and my partner could work. This was how I met him, and this is his story.

His Story

Regret! Regret for hurting the one who loved me most! That’s what kept me here. How could I had been so selfish? So foolish? So blinded by the ecstasy of a passionate affair? So ridiculous was I to think that this new spark of flame could replace the steady warmth of my wife. It had just started, this affair, and I already told my wife I wanted to divorce her. Why didn’t she say anything? Why didn’t she say no and fight? I thought she didn’t love me anymore because she didn’t cry, she didn’t ask me to stay. 

Was there something wrong with my marriage? No, there wasn’t. My wife was a beautiful woman, quiet, dependable, and stable. Stable, that’s what she was, so stable that we lacked excitement but we were good together. She gave me a ‘home’, a place I knew that I belonged, but there was nothing new, there were no thrills, no surprises. It was dull; I was bored. But I did not know that until I met her, this young woman I met on my daily morning coffee run. The softness of her ginger hair brushed accidentally against my cheek as she tossed her mane to one side while she giggled with her work friends in front of me was how I remembered our first encounter. That sensation was enticing though she was unaware of it. I could still smell her jasmine shampoo that afternoon while bored out of my mind in a marathon conference. 

The next day, she was there again. This time alone but was behind me in line. She was writing an email on her phone while she bumped it into me and wordlessly apologized before focusing on her work again. The third day, we arrived at the same time and I let her queue before me because I wanted to be able to see her. She gave me a brief smile and stood in line in front of me. She ordered her double shot latte with hazelnut and thanked me again with a smile as she walked to the side to wait for her joe. She was leaving with her coffee as I went to wait for mine. 

She was pretty, not the stunning type, but she had a sparkle in her eyes. She seemed very full of life, someone who lived life to its fullest and exuded sprightliness even when she was calm. I wanted to experience life the way she did; I wanted to find out more. That’s why the next day I got to the coffee shop a few minutes earlier, ordered my usual black coffee and a double shot latte with hazelnut and handed it to her when she walked in. What I did not expect was that she thanked me with a peck on the cheek and left giggling. I didn’t even get her name. The following morning I was slightly late and made it to the coffee shop just as she was walking out and placing a thermos of black coffee into my hand giggling and left. It was a navy blue thermos with yellow and auburn lines which reminds me of her hair. I sipped that coffee all day with the memory of her giggly face. Her smile was mesmerizing.

Did I for a single moment think I was doing something wrong since I was a married man? No, I hadn’t done anything at that point. I didn’t even know her name. For all I knew, this could just be a friendly exchange of coffees and smiles, giggles in her case. We might not ever talk or exchange names. For now, that was intriguing enough, but I couldn’t figure out if I should be getting her a thermos too. I decided against it. Also, I didn’t know if this exchange was going to continue. Was I next to buy? When I got there the next day, she was already there, seated down at a table with her colleagues intensely planning something. Beside her was a thermos in pink and silver with burnt orange highlights, matching her hair. I stood in line watching her but she didn’t notice. When it was my turn to order, I suddenly felt her soft hair on me as she handed the barista her thermos to be kept there at the coffee shop. Her lips brushed against my ear in what felt like an accidental kiss as she turned back to her colleagues. It wasn’t accidental, was it? It didn’t make sense for her to turn toward me while returning to her table, right? All these thoughts were titillating and I found my life was once again filled with zest. My days went by faster with thoughts of her but my nights dragged on as I waited for mornings to come so I could see her. So, whose turn was it now to buy coffee? Was it supposed to work on a fixed schedule? Or whoever got there first should buy? I didn’t know, so I decided to just bring my thermos to find out. For the first time, I hid something from my wife. I brought my thermos home in my work bag so I could bring it to the coffee shop the next morning but didn’t want my wife to ask from where I got it, so I kept it in the bag. The whole night I was worried that somehow my wife might open my bag to get something and noticed the thermos, or that I didn’t zip my bag up properly and it would fall out. It was a thermos, for goodness sake, nothing incriminating about that. I could say that it was a gift from my team at work, why was I so worried? Maybe I was worried about not being able to hide my spirit?

The thermos did not escape from my bag and revealed itself throughout the night and I went with it to the coffee shop at my usual time. She wasn’t there, nor was her thermos. I was disappointed. And just when I thought ‘well, no giggles today I guess’, I heard the jingle of her giggles right beside my ears as she took my thermos from my hand and ordered a black coffee before putting hers down and left. What? Where did she come from? And why the giggle? Why hadn’t she told me her name? I hadn’t even had the chance to ask. I decided to play along as the suspense had spiced up my monotonous life significantly. My mornings were now the highlights of my days and I had her to think about all day. Each morning was different and it was appealing. At night, I looked at my wife and regretted how repetitious she was. I wished she would tease me and flirt with me, but instead, she was predictable like clockwork. She was always there, dinner always ready when I got home, and everything was on schedule, routines unbroken. She was always clean and proper and nice to look at, but she didn’t make me feel alive. I felt like everything would stay the same until the day I die. I wanted more; I wanted to hear giggles, I wanted accidental kisses. I wanted effervescence and surprises. I wanted her, the auburn girl with the pink and orange thermos.

With much anticipation, I went to the coffee shop after a torturous wait over a long weekend. Everyone seemed especially tired but not her. She was there shining brightly with two thermoses in her hands ready to leave as I walked in. Hey, that’s mine! Was she taking my thermos away? Was the fun over for her and she was stopping it by taking my thermos away? Was I supposed to just order my own coffee in a takeaway cup? Or was I supposed to go after her? I checked my watch, there was still time, so I went after her, figured that I could always run back to buy my own coffee if she gave me the cold shoulder. I caught up with her, she didn’t look at me, no smile, no giggles, she just kept walking with 2 thermoses in hands. I didn’t know what was going on and started worrying about being late for work. And where were we walking to? Was I supposed to keep walking with her? She hadn’t indicated otherwise. If she was done with me, she didn’t have to be holding my thermos, right? She could have tossed it in the bin, left it at the coffee shop, or put it in her bag. So, was there coffee in mine then? Or was it not mine anymore? We walked to the square that I passed through to work each morning, she handed me my coffee and turned toward a side street giggling. I guess that’s where our paths split. I took a sip of my coffee as I continued on to work, recapturing the bizarre morning in my head over and over again. I was distracted at work today and everyone noticed the smile on me and asked if my Missus had given me an extra long goodbye kiss in the morning. They had no idea and were told it was none of their businesses.

For the next 2 mornings I arrived with both thermoses still there on the shelf, and just when I got them filled, the thermos would be snatched out of my hands and left the coffee shop swiftly with their auburn purchaser. We walked silently to the square before our departures marked with exchanges of a smile and a giggle. I had no idea what was happening. Was I supposed to start talking? Or were we supposed to just keep doing this every morning from now on? What happened to the surprises? Had she ran out of ideas? Would I start getting bored of this if that’s all I was going to get? How long could this last? I didn’t know but I didn’t want the excitement to end. I wanted more, but how? I decided that the next morning I would do something. I didn’t know what, but I needed to take an initiative. It was Friday, if I didn’t do something, then I would have to think about what would happen all weekend. I let the coffees be snatched from my hands and be led to the square as I did the previous days this week. The whole time I wanted to talk, to ask her her name, to even say ‘good morning’, but somehow I couldn’t. It felt like there was a reason for the silence to remain unbroken, almost as though I was afraid it would wake me up from a wonderful dream, or that a charming spell would be broken if I did. But no, I couldn’t just let her walk away toward the alley without doing something. So, at the spur of the moment, I grabbed her hand as she was turning away from me in departure, spun her back and kissed her on the lip. She did not resist nor did she respond with eager, but she did meet my lips with a soft sensual kiss. Oh my, what had I done? Right there, in public, so close to work, I kissed a total stranger while holding her hand. After a brief but long kiss, she turned away again, giggled, and left. When I took my first sip of coffee from my thermos which was now in my hand, I noticed she had left her lipstick mark where I was supposed to drink from. She knew. She knew I was going to kiss her. I spent the weekend in dreamland thinking of her sensual lips and started fantasizing about kissing her other lips down below. My wife could tell that I had sexual desires and asked if I wanted her to come out in just her bathrobe after her shower. I said ‘yes, please’ and was thrilled to explore the jasmine-scented auburn forest all night in fantasy while my wife complied. She offered herself again seeing that my urges were still there the next night. My wife, she was good to me, but she no longer excited me.

My physical urges were released after the weekend but my desires to immerse myself in the jasmine sweetness was not gone, in fact, it was intensified as the curiosity was not satiated. I wanted nothing more but to feel the moist gingery hair between my fingers as I searched for her private lips while kissing those giggling ones. But how was I to do that? I couldn’t just ask, could I? How could you ask such a thing from a stranger you had kissed but hadn’t even spoken to? A stranger you didn’t even know the name of? I figured I would just have to wait and grasp the opportunity as it presented itself. That Monday morning, I saw that my thermos was not on the shelf but hers was. I didn’t know why but I figured I would just order the latte to be filled in hers while I ordered mine in a to-go cup. But as the barista took her pink and orange thermos from the shelf, he noticed there was already hot coffee inside. It was a black coffee, mine. So, she took my thermos then, I guess. Was it a mistake? Or was it intentional? Was she trying to tell me something? Oh, how I wished she was there for me to ask. At the office, I had to explain to everyone who walked by my desk and asked about the pink thermos that my wife had mistakenly put mine into the dishwasher in the morning, how it wasn’t ready when I left the house, so I took hers. But each time I answered that question, I thought of its rightful owner, the auburn that enticed me to an insane, burning degree. I wanted nothing but her, to hear her giggle, to feel her soft hair against my skin, and to wrap my entire presence with her jasmine scent. I wanted her for the excitement, the surprises, and the thrills. I looked forward to each morning coffee run; I wished we would do that multiple times a day. I had gone to the coffee shop during lunchtime, during my afternoon break, and after work, but she was never there, just her thermos on the shelf. I didn’t know when she brought it back each day, but it was always there whenever I went, taunting me, reminding me of just how she was there yet just out of reach. What was I to do? 

Two days went by with me drinking black coffee from a pink thermos, my colleagues started noticing that it was a mistake that my wife was unlikely to make repeatedly for days in a row. They had known me for 15 years and had met my wife even before we were married; they knew her well enough to know that she was too careful to make such mistakes. They started worrying about her, thinking she was sick. I had to reassure them she was fine and said I had grabbed the wrong thermos by the third day. What should I tell them if I got the pink thermos again the following day? Should I just switch to a to-go cup? I started to worry. Luckily, I didn’t have to worry about that again, for the next day, both thermoses were gone when I arrived and there was no sign of her. Once again, I had no idea what was going on. Was she angry at me for having kissed her? Did I not follow her hints appropriately? Did I not kiss her long enough? Was there something I missed the last few days that made her upset and decided to stop our encounters? I ordered my black coffee and walked to work without seeing her. It was agonizing to go through so many days without seeing her and not knowing if I ever would again. Did she move companies? Was she okay? Those thoughts just kept spiraling in my head. It was Thursday. If I didn’t see her the next day, I would had had to ponder over this all weekend with the hope that the mystery would be solved on Monday morning. Friday, the thermoses were once again not on the shelf. I left the coffee shop again with my black coffee in a paper cup wondering what went wrong. ‘Oh no, is it all over?’ I questioned. Did I break the rules by kissing her? Or was the mystery over and the game was no longer fun for her? But I wanted her. I wanted her so badly, not just her lips, I wanted her body.  As I was busy thinking about her, I nearly tripped over something on the ground. My thermos, empty, was sitting right there where I had kissed her. What did that mean? Was it a sign that it was all over? Or was that a hint? I felt like a schoolboy in a treasure hunt with a clue I didn’t understand. It was titillating and aggravating.

All weekend, I sat and pondered with my thermos in my hand. I studied it over and over again to see if there was a clue, but there was none. I had no idea what she meant by putting my thermos where we kissed. And when did she put it there that no one else took it nor tripped on it? Oh my, was she around when I stumbled? Was I supposed to have gone looking around for her? Did I screw up again? Shit, that’s it, wasn’t it? So, by Monday, I went to get my coffee with absolutely no hopes of seeing her, and nope, I didn’t. She was nowhere in sight and her thermos was gone. However, when I went to drop mine off after work, hers was back on the shelf, sitting right in the middle as if she was there to say ‘hi’. I thought I even heard her giggle but the auburn beauty was nowhere to be found. It must had been my imagination. But I was relieved to see her thermos there telling me that her game was still on. I had no complaints at all being in this little game of hers. It’s mysterious, tantalizing, and honestly more exciting than I had felt for nearly 2 decades, if ever at all in my life.

She had changed me. Routines bored me but I had her to look forward to. Going home to my wife no longer seemed a dread, it was just like going to work, something I just had to do, which I could perform as usual. I still loved my wife but I didn’t love going back to her each day. I didn’t love being with her, I just did what I had to do. I lived again every morning with anticipation of my auburn little game. For 3 hours each day, from the moment I woke up to the second I walked into work, my life was unpredictable, thrilling, and in complete control of someone sexy and fun, oh, and giggly, a stranger! 

I was ready for anything the next morning. With much anticipation of a new surprise, I walked toward our coffee shop and found her leaving with our coffees in hands. Now, this I understood, I was meant to walk with her. Side by side, her jasmine scent was particularly overwhelming today, but there seemed to be a subtle hint of rose in it. I liked it. We walked silently as per usual and suddenly she stopped. Now, was I supposed to kiss her? No, she did. She gave me a small peck on the lips and a softer one on the nape of my neck and left. Oh my sensual goodness, I nearly came in my pants from that. I felt like I was kissed for the first time in my life. I wanted to grab her and reciprocate, but she turned and left with a giggle. Oh man, that was quite something, but as soon as I got to the office, I ran to the bathroom to clean off her lipstick mark on my neck and to make sure there was none on my collar. Even though I had checked over and over again, I still felt like there was some evidence left there that everyone could see. I felt so guilty even though I did nothing today. The guilt was so teasingly arousing. The thought of her kiss made me hot all day and I wanted more, a lot more. How could I not? I wanted her all the way and I was going to get it. I didn’t care how.

She looked mysterious stunning the next morning as she walked out of the coffee shop in her tied up trench coat and cinnamon-coloured knee-high boots and coffees in hand. I wanted to untie that coat and see what was underneath, so I grabbed the coffees from her and walked to the alley behind the parking lot where my car was. I didn’t know if she would follow me, but she did. I put the coffees down, pinned her against the wall and kissed her while untying her coat. She had on a skimpy burnt yellow silky summer dress that hugged her body so well I could almost see her every crevice. I had to touch it, I had to feel her. I squeezed her mounds only to find that she was bare under her dress. Was it the same below? I wanted to find out. But could I? Should I? What would happen if I did? And what would happen if I didn’t? It was time to stop thinking; I couldn’t control myself anymore, so I slid my hand up her supple leg, up her dress, to find nothing in the way of her soft, wet mound that warmly welcomed my finger. I couldn’t hold myself back anymore. She must had anticipated this, so I unzipped my pants and took her right there and then. The thrill and passion were so overwhelming that I came within minutes of deep, intense thrusts. When we were done, she giggled, closed her coat, and left without her coffee.

Our encounters continued to be thrilling and mysterious but I have shared enough details here and don’t want to turn this into an erotica. Let’s just say that she kept my life arousingly colourful. We started banging each other at other times but we never exchanged contacts nor names, in fact, we barely exchanged words. She had her ways of leaving me hints to let me know when and where to be, including the middle of work days. Never had I once wanted to break the silence before she did, and I never got a single chance to suggest a rendezvous because she always did so just at the right moment. She never asked for protection but never seemed to be concerned about pregnancy nor diseases. I trusted her to know the best, so I never doubted her, instead just enjoyed each of our encounters completely free of hinders.

I still went home to my wife, we still routinely had sex, down to the minute. But that was it. Life at home was dull, suffocating me day by day. Yet life outside of the home was arousing, revitalizing. My soul was dying at home and I needed to get out. My zestful ginger was just what I needed, the perfect spice for me. She never seemed to care whether I was married, in fact never inquired much about me. We were strangers who shared provocatively entangled moments. Our trysts kept me from drowning from my stifling life, but I wanted more. I was no longer pleased with being enlivened just to have my life sucked out of me each night. I decided to put a stop to it, I wanted to live. I didn’t care if my auburn lover would share my new life, I just needed one. She had shown me what I was missing, reminded me of the life that I had given up. One night after 3 months of affairs, I asked for a divorce. My wife silently accepted, went into our bedroom and started packing her bags. She was gone by the weekend. I was sad to see her go but glad to be able to start living again. My home felt empty without my wife but I was glad she was gone, I could revitalize my life with freedom, without guilt.

My ginger bomb and I hooked up more now that I didn’t have anyone to answer to. It didn’t matter to me how she knew that I was a free-body and could have frequent extensive after work sessions with her, I just simply enjoyed them. Each time was different and I was still kept on my toes each day not knowing whether I would be invited to explore the jasmine-infused gingery forest or not. Enraptured would probably best describe my experience with her. 

Things went on for another 2 months when I realized I no longer wanted to go home to my empty nest each night. There was no soul in it anymore, something seemed to be missing. Even though my enchantress and I met frequently, I had never invited her home and had never slept beside her. There was something sacred about this place that I couldn’t defile by bringing someone else back. What? What someone else? My wife had compliantly left upon my request. There was no one else but me, so why not? But no, it felt wrong. It didn’t seem right to fill the emptiness I felt in my house by bringing my lover here. What was gone could not be replaced. All that my lover and I had between us was lust, not even words. I didn’t know where she worked, where she was from, not even her name, but it was fine with me. The mystery made it all the more thrilling. However, every night, as I returned home to the dark silence and crawled into my side of the cold bed, I felt empty. 

There was no longer the smell of perfectly-timed freshly-cooked meals waiting for me; there was no longer the mundane questions of ‘how was your day’ to answer. All there was was complete stillness. I no longer went home for dinners, so I didn’t even have to waste my weekends on grocery shopping like I used to, but I began to miss that routine. There was no longer anyone to iron my shirts and to prepare a fresh set of clothing for me at night for the next morning. Breakfasts were no longer served hot on a plate but cold cereal in a bowl, and I missed my morning cup of hot black tea with fresh ginger and lemon readied at the perfect temperature. I couldn’t get it right even with the same recipe. Was it some special ingredient I didn’t know about? Was it because of the way she made it? Or did I just simply miss her?

No way. How could I possibly miss her and the monotonous life when my enchantress brought me such excitement every day? I was kept on my toes, like a little boy on Christmas morning, not knowing what surprises I would get, except it was Christmas EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. Why on God’s earth would I miss the dull routines of my married life? Those lovely giggles, tantalizing ginger curls, and mesmerizing jasmine scent infused me with life; they saved me from drowning in my placid sea of boredom. There were absolutely no conceivable reasons why I would want to go back to unending drowning. All I needed to do was to check the date and I would know what dinners and outfits I would be getting. The routine was never breaking and absolutely unsurprising. But those deliciously perfect dinners, flawlessly-ironed shirts… No, why would I be missing that mundane predictability when I was given a daily dose of excitement?

My wife? What was she doing? Where was she? Was her bed as empty and cold as mine? How was she ever going to warm her feet in bed without me? How was she spending her day without having to wash and iron my clothes, preparing my every need and tidying up after me? She did all these without me ever noticing. I never recognized what she did all day in the past until now. With all the work she had to do, she still always looked lovely whenever I was home. A pleasant sort of lovely, not strikingly attractive even though she was a beautiful woman. She was just right.

My ginger bomb, my giggly enchantress, what did I know about her? Nothing. I knew not where she worked. I knew not where she lived, not even her name. For God’s sake, I didn’t even know her name. Our exchanges were terse, our communication purely physical, no, not physical, just sexual. Oh my, simply thinking about her could get me all wired up in the right places. But what else was there? Nothing? Just a hard cock! She never cared for my well-being, she never asked. She didn’t seem to be interested nor concerned, yet she seemed to know exactly how I was feeling and knew what encounters to plan. Did that mean she cared about my feelings, or did she just know how to get the best ride out of me? She was in it for the ride, a rock hard ride, nothing else, I bet. Did that mean she was a bad person? I doubt it. There must be a very sensitive soul in her to know how I was feeling, but she saw our primal needs for each other and fed our desires. She initiated and I reciprocated delightfully. I was okay with her not attending to my deeper feelings, at least not until I removed my wife from my life. 

Without my wife, there were no longer silent massages after particularly stressful workdays; there were no longer quiet cups of soothingly hot ginger chamomile tea on the nightstand when I got into bed with a stuffy nose. There was no longer the reassuring unspoken comfort of knowing there was someone to count on. All these were gone the moment she wordlessly walked out of the door with her bags upon my request. I didn’t know what I had until it was gone, but could I have it back? Would she come back to me as reticently as she left? Would she even come back to me? I wouldn’t forgive me if I were her for having been taken for granted and discarded so easily. I disrespected her, I didn’t deserve her. Was that why she left without a word a complaint? Did she know I was cheating on her? She must have known; she noticed everything. Why didn’t she confront me? Why did she continue to pretend life was normal when I was unfaithful? Could I had continued to live my double life being mundanely married yet with a thrilling affair? But why did she let me do that without mentioning a single word, nor showed any signs of being upset? It didn’t seem like she was afraid of losing me or she wouldn’t have left so compliantly. Then why was she so unconfrontational? Was I not worth her fighting for? Was she really okay with sharing me with another woman who obviously had me bewitched? What was I to her then if she was willing to share? But I wronged her, regardless of what she thought, I wronged her, and I needed to apologize to her. It didn’t matter whether she would come back to me or not, she needed to know that I was sorry. I needed to let her know.

In the solitude of my car on my way home without a rendezvous with my mesmerist after work, I decided called my wife, hoping that she had not changed her number. I fumbled through my phone to find her number as after all these years, I never had it memorized. There was never a need to call her as she knew everything; everything was prepared and readied. I looked down onto the screen and next thing I knew, I heard a loud screech, a deafening crunch of metal, a big sideways jerk, then darkness. I had no idea how long the darkness lasted but the next thing I saw, the sky was nearly dark, paramedics were hovering over me checking for responses and regardless of how loudly I screamed ‘Hey, I am ok,’ they didn’t hear me. I screamed and screamed to no avail, so I decided to push them off and get up. I pushed, but my arms went right through them, and I got up without bumping into any of them.

I stood up, looked around and saw the mess. Debris everywhere, flames, emergency personnel, etc.. I was standing next to my car, a white semi had hit the driver’s side and the front passenger’s door was open. How could I be standing there completely free of pain when my car was crushed like a tin can? Was it some miracle that I was absolutely unharmed? But why then was the other door opened? It made no sense since I was alone in the car, there shouldn’t had been a passenger.  Slowly, it dawned upon me that my rescuers had to drag me out from the other side. But if I was pinned and injured, then why was I standing there, pain-free, and no one had come to ask me any questions? This was when I looked down and saw my body laying on the floor, non-responsive, lifeless!

‘I am dead?’ I shouted. I couldn’t believe I was dead. ‘Hold on, but then why am I standing here? What am I? Am I a ghost? What in the world is happening? What am I supposed to do now? Where am I supposed to go?’ Suddenly, there was an overwhelming awareness in me along with a lot of confusion. Everything seemed to now make sense, yet they didn’t. I had no idea what was going to happen. Nothing I had ever learned from life had prepared me for this. 

I stood there, lost, not knowing what I should do next. Now what? I was on my way to apologize to my wife. Did that mean now I would never be forgiven? I wanted her to come back to me even though I knew I did not deserve it, but I wanted her to forgive me. At some distance, I saw a light, I saw some people waving at me. I must had been imagining things as how could there be a light whiter and brighter than daylight? And I thought my parents were waving at me with my childhood dog standing by their side. They had passed years ago, were they welcoming me to join them in heaven? I missed them and wanted to walk to them and hug them. I wanted to play catch with our dog like we used to and laugh those innocent laughs again. But I couldn’t, my legs wouldn’t move because of guilt. I knew they loved my wife like their own daughter. My wife had treated me well. What would they say if I told them what I did to her? I couldn’t face them nor could I lie to them. However much it pained me, I turned and walked away pretending that I didn’t see them. This is when I heard a gentle, loving voice telling me that they would be there waiting when I was ready. I cried!

‘When I was ready.’ Would I ever be ready? I thought to myself. Now that I couldn’t go apologize to my wife, and be forgiven, how would I ever be ready to face my parents? They would never forgive me, heck, I would never forgive me. But now what? Where was I supposed to go? Is there a place where ghosts hang out? I am guessing they don’t jus† stick around where they died, right? Do they have to stay out of the way of the living? Sleep? Eat? How long do they, we, stay around for? How to stop being a ghost? I didn’t see any other ghosts around me, well, but then I was in the middle of an intersection of a 2-lane interstate with no houses around. I guessed that to find any other ghosts, I must go to a cemetery? Or somewhere where there were more people? Either way, being stuck where I was wouldn’t help. I didn’t want to spend my unknown future counting cars and birds, so I hitched a ride from the ambulance transporting my lifeless body. Oh my, was I in for a surprise when we got to the hospital. There were so many ghosts there, some crying, some screaming, some loitering aimlessly, and some were angry, but none seemed friendlily waiting to be talked to. Each one of them seemed to have their own agenda and weren’t ready to be interrupted, even those just sitting in the waiting room or strolling around. I didn’t have the nerve to disturb them to ask ‘what’s next?’ It also seemed like none of them would have the answer I seek either. What was going to happen to me? Would I just end up like them, purposefully aimless for eternity?

As I was wondering about my potentially miserable future, a familiar gait caught the corner of my eye. It was my wife, the one who I heartlessly discarded, just walked in through the entrance. Without noticing me, she went straight to the information desk and was directed to the morgue, that’s when I remembered that I was dead, I was now a ghost, and she couldn’t see me. Following her, we went to the cold room where my body was laid. I knew it was cold because of the way she closed up her jacket and tied up the belt. It wasn’t the way she did it when she wanted to be proper, but she was wrapping herself up for the cold as well as what she feared she might have to face. A man greeted her, guided her to a table and showed her my face under the white cloth. A silent confirmation accompanied by an equally silent tear, she then quietly handled some paperwork and left. Was that it? Was that all I deserved? One small stream of tears? Yes, I guess that was indeed all that I deserved considering how I treated her. What right did I have to expect more reactions when I had thrown her out when I found no more interest in her? Maybe she was too angry at me to be sad? Or maybe she had already found someone new and no longer cared for me? The thought of her being with someone else was unbearable. How could she forget about me and move on so easily? Or had she always had someone else since she doesn’t seem to ever need me for anything? Oh, I couldn’t bear those thoughts, the thoughts of her being with someone else. But… but, she probably knew I was with someone else. Was that how she felt the last year knowing she was sharing me with another woman? Did she feel anything? Was she jealous? All these thoughts started swirling around my head I didn’t even realize she had left. 

By the time I realized that I was alone with my dead body, I felt lost and confused, and lonely. All my life, I had my wife with me. We had friends we got together with for dinner parties and drinks at the club, but I didn’t have anyone close, no one I really talked to. I didn’t need anyone; there was nothing to complain about. My wife had been the best wife anyone could ask for; she was supportive, caring, attentive, responsible, etc.. My life had been so smooth and mundane I didn’t need any other support from anyone else. A rough workday was eased by a massage that I didn’t even have to ask for. That was about as bad as my days would get. The only people who knew more about me were my colleagues, but they only admired my mundane life sculptured by my diligent wife. I was alone in the morgue, I was alone in life, and I didn’t even know it. I didn’t even have a hobby. There were even a tattoo nor a scar for me to tell stories with. Oh, how pathetically I lived.

But my life for the last year was not mundane; it was not pathetic. My enchantress had filled it with mystery and excitement. I felt alive and wanted. It was thrilling. Her meticulous planning brought out the spontaneity in me that I never had, not even as a teenage boy. My life had always been on the right path, no boundaries were ever tested, no rebellious attempts were ever made nor considered. My life was unexciting and mundane… wait, I was mundane, I was dull, so I chose a wife to maintain that. It wasn’t her fault that she didn’t provide sparks and thrills to my life; I chose her as my partner for her stability and accountability. How could I had found fault in her for exactly what I had married her in the first place? Oh no, what had I done? My life was a complete failure when I thought I was successful. Unaware of what I really desired deep inside, I thought I was living a model life that I was destined for. How wrong was I? Oh, I thought I was sorry for kicking my wife out of my life, now I am even more sorry for having blamed her for the life that I had chosen to live. It wasn’t her fault at all; she played her role perfectly as I had expected her to. Oh, how selfish was I? There was no way she would ever forgive me for that, plus it’s not like I could go apologize to her now anyway as a ghost. Even if I was alive, I didn’t even know where she was staying and she might not answer my calls, so I stood there next to my boring corpse and wept at the pathetic life that I left behind. It took death for me to realize I lied to myself my entire life.

Standing there alone, I felt nothing but remorse. It was probably late at night now, I saw other ghosts roaming around but there were few living souls where I was. I had nowhere to go, no need to do anything, there wasn’t even the need to eat or sleep to distract me and shorten my days. How was I to spend my time here? Was I to spend eternity like this? Would there ever be an end to this dullness? I thought my life was dull, my afterlife was worse. With no place to go, I decided to just stick around where my body laid and following it to my funeral to see my family and friends one last time. Where to after that? Who knows? Hold on, how did I know I was going to get a funeral? My wife was angry at me, would she even help arrange my funeral with my sister? Well, guess I would just have to wait and see.

The morgue was a peaceful but sad place to be in. People: doctors, friends, families, and ghosts came and went; everyone seemed to have an objective to leave as quickly as possible. During the time there, I saw lifetimes full of emotions: sadness, remorse, anger, feeling of abandonment, loneliness, emptiness, confusion, relief, rage, etc., I even saw someone smirked and muttered ‘finally, you are dead; it’s been long enough’ and another saying between sobs, ‘I am glad you found peace at last’. It was getting too sad staying around watching people and ghost cry, I was ready to leave, and just then, someone came to move my body. It was time for me to go. 

I followed myself to a funeral home, looked around and realized it was the same one where friends said their final ‘goodbyes’ to my father. They were setting up for me, and everything looked the same as when I had planned my father’s with my wife. Did that mean my wife organized all these for me? I couldn’t believe it, why would she do so for someone who hurt her so badly? But who else knew all the details? surely not my sister who wasn’t even in the country when I made the arrangement. No, I didn’t my wife did. She took care of most of it with my direction. I was in disbelief when I heard her familiar voice behind me and turned around to see her face, right there, at my nose tip. She seemed to have felt something, brushed her nose, and then walked right through me. For a moment, I felt our hearts collided. I felt her sadness, her love. Her love for me was so strong that she could overlook my disloyalty and abandonment while I discarded her when I saw her as a dud in my life; I was so ashamed!

The funeral day came, my wife was as pleasantly beautiful as ever. How could anyone in mourning be so subtly beautiful was beyond me? Those red, glistening eyes gracefully told everyone her sadness and her love for me. No one knew about what I had done, even her parents seemed to be genuinely sad about my passing away. They were probably sad for their daughter, of her heartaches, but they were graceful. Did they know what I had done to her? How I had hurt her? Would they still had been so sad if they knew? I would be angry at me if I were them. Well-organized and uneventful was my funeral just as my life. I began to miss that life. The mundane no longer seemed that bad when you had nothing but a possible eternity of non-events alone before you. I longed for my warm cup of tea in the morning, the softness of my wife’s breath in bed; I wished to feel crisply ironed shirt against my skin again and to smell her delicious Christmas cookies infused in our house. Oh, what had I done? And I was about to call and apologize to her, too! What would had happened if I did manage to talk to her? Hold on, maybe I still could. She felt my nose brushed against hers, maybe she could feel me or hear me. I gotta try! Not now, but later. I gotta follow her to wherever she was going after the funeral. It didn’t matter where she was going, even if it was to another man’s I must try to apologize to her, to make it right. I needed to be forgiven. I braced myself for anger and jealousy to see her happy with someone else.

I followed her into her parents’ car when they left thinking maybe they were giving her a ride? But no, they drove straight back to their house. After a brief ‘goodnight’ she went into her childhood bedroom, sat on the edge of the bed and collapsed into tears. I had never seen her so discomposed before. All these years, I thought she was fragile and needed my protection, while she had been the stronger one holding me up. If there were any sadness in her, she never really showed it, just a few soft tears, never a full cry, but that was enough for me to feel I wasn’t protecting her. Seeing her like this, I was frightened and lost. I didn’t know what to do even if I were alone, let alone dead. Should I be talking to her, holding her hand, hugging her, or what should I do? I decided to sit down next to her which she seemed to had felt and her cry paused before it came back with what seemed to be more pains than before. I wanted to console her, so I put my arm around her shoulder and whispered into her ear how sorry I was. Once again, her cry paused, then she collapsed onto her bed and cried a deeper but quieter cry. That’s when I knew how deeply I had hurt her and my presence was hurting her further. I had to leave.

That was it! There went my last chance to ask for forgiveness from her. Without her forgiveness, I wouldn’t be able to face my parents in the light. Was I forever stuck here? Or would my soul just expire after a while? Oh, how miserable that sounded, to dissipate into nothingness after a life of pathetic nothingness? But maybe that’s exactly what I deserved for having taken my wife for granted and blaming her for my own dullness. I wasted my life away. Then now what? What was I supposed to do between now and my end? It took me no time at all to decide to start living my death, to do what I never did when alive, to travel and see the world. All my wife and I did was one cruise, one cruise in my entire life, nothing else. I wasn’t interested in seeing what the rest of the world was like. Nothing else mattered except for having a safe and secure life. Now that nothing could harm me, I wanted to see all these things I had not ever felt the urge to see. I knew I wouldn’t be able to smell, taste and touch anything anymore, but at least I could see and hear something new. The world is a much bigger place when you are no longer confined by the physical. Any new experience would be better than loitering around aimlessly indefinitely.

With that decision made, I hitched a ride when my father-in-law went to town. For a fortnight I strolled around until one day I saw a businessman with a suitcase and followed him to the airport where I was overwhelmed by the number of ghosts floating around. Some arrived with family or friends, but most seemed to had been around for a while. I didn’t know so many chose to spend their unknown eternity there, but I was on a mission; I wanted to so see the world. I had a whole array of traveller to follow, I could go to literally anywhere in the world, but I decided to follow the same man. Because of the way he was dressed, I assumed he was headed toward a trip filled with luxuries. We ‘flew’ although it wasn’t quite as easy for me as it would be to be a real passenger, we arrived at his destination in the evening. It was dazzling to see all the busy lights dancing around in the big metropolis; it was mesmerizing.  All I could think of was what glamour would I see following him. Lo and behold, we entered the most expensive hotel I had ever seen in my life. I didn’t know how many stars, but it was pricey for sure. He even had a jacuzzi that was divided by a frosted glass wall from his bedroom. All I could imagine was the amount of action he could get with that setup. But it was late, so he washed up and went to bed. I thought, maybe tomorrow. He was a charismatic man, I was sure he would be bringing women back every night. But night after night, he didn’t. He would eagerly return to his room to order room service and chat with his family online. They had such a sweet family.

He stayed in that room for about a fortnight and every night was the same except for one night when he returned kinda drunk but still alone. I went around and saw the city but all I saw was busy streets filled with lonely people. Most of them felt void of love on the inside. I didn’t know how I was aware of that, but I felt them and it made me feel despair. After 2 weeks, I was done with this city; I was done with this trip. The city depressed me and so did this man’s life business-travelling life. I gathered from his family conversation that he spent most of his time away from his children. It was heartbreaking but they remained strongly tied to each other. I followed him to the airport and decided to follow a good-looking woman for some nice views. It seemed like such a wonderful treat to be able to follow whomever you wanted, and see whatever you desired when you were dead. Without a body, you were no longer confined by physical restrictions and the rules of legislation. I saw what I wanted to see in the privacy of her bedroom but due to my inability to touch, smell and taste, it was worse than watching pornography. She was right in front of me, I saw everything in details in whichever angle I wanted, but I could not feel her. Everything I saw was real and I knew that her climax was genuine and her lover was equally excited. I could ‘sense’ their emotions, their chemistry, and their lust, but I couldn’t participate. There wasn't the excitement of voyeurism with the fear of getting caught, because I knew I wouldn’t. And if another soul happened to be there, they were there for the same show anyway. The excitement soon dwindled. I followed her back to the airport, followed her lover back to his home where he had amazing sex with his fiancée, then realized he was cheating on her. I had no right to judge him as I was a cheater myself. But while I was there, roamed around his town till his next travel, where he hooked up with yet another woman in a wellness retreat that he co-hosted. I had enough of this man, so I followed one of his students. 

On and on like that, I went to different cities, different countries; saw things from various perspectives and of people from all walks of life. I felt sadness, loneliness, love of different kinds, happiness, glee, lust, excitement, disappointment, regrets, pride, remorse, anger, fear, rebellion, rejection, hatred, but rarely experienced peace and calmness. I was getting depressed watching the passerby in mostly unhappiness. How pathetic were we humans that we live our lives mostly by carrying negative emotions? I wanted to move on, but how? Without my wife’s forgiveness, how could I even move on? I was not deserving of the light that I saw my parents in. I ruined the ‘perfect’ life that I had; I destroyed the perfect soul that my wife had. I deserved the opposite from the light, hell was the only place fitting for me, but I didn’t even know how to get there. Anywhere but here, please, I was ready to be somewhere else. Both life and afterlife seemed to be so pointless here for us humans, I just wanted to go somewhere else. I didn’t know how I could go anywhere else but this Earth but I knew that I wanted to see my wife one last time before I tried to find my way to move on. I wanted to see that she was happier without me. I wanted to see that she had found someone more deserving of her, who wouldn’t take her for granted and would treat her the way she deserved, with love and respect. Hopping from traveller to traveller, I hitchhiked my way home. 

I didn’t know where my wife was but thought I would start by waiting at my father-in-law’s favourite bakery in town. I knew his routine; every Saturday morning, he would get up early to buy freshly baked bread, make fresh coffee, and cut up some fruit for his wife to have breakfast in bed. I used to think that was lame of him to do so, now I know it was a sign of love, his token of appreciation for her love and dedication. She raised a beautiful, loving family with him, and he was thankful. That was her one morning where she was relieved from her duty when she was instead taken care of by him. Now I realized that it was not HIS favourite bakery, but hers. He only went there every Saturday morning because that’s what my mother-in-law loved. As predicted, my father-in-law arrived just as the bakery opened, bought the same items as he always did for the last decades, and brought them home. His face was filled with love and adoration as he prepared the same breakfast he did for as long as the bakery had been established. His love for her was so strong; it was incredible to witness that. I was regaining hope for mankind by realizing that love and kindness, the positive acts are most often subtle and silent. They are meant to be felt, not heard. I was so caught up in my realization I didn’t notice my wife had stepped into the room until she was standing ‘in’ me, us overlapping, as close as we could ever be. We were one and all her emotions rushed into me. I knew from what I felt that she had not found anyone new and was still mourning for me. It had been a few years, but she was still hurting. As though sensing my feeling her emotions, she had a look of unease and vulnerability, but also a feeling of calmness of familiarity one gets from seeing  a longtime friend. Then a trigger of excitement, realization, then overwhelming sadness. She quickly went back to her room and sobbed. 

Just as the night of my funeral, my presence was still hurting her. I knew now I had to move on. There was nothing I could do to help her. By staying, I would only do more harm than good. I walked into her room, kissed her on her forehead, apologized, then waited out in the car for the next time my father-in-law went to town and followed. And this time, I was more aimless than ever. There was no instruction manual on afterlife like there are for the living. No one could tell me where I could go, so I loitered around mainly in coffee shops and bookstores. Bars were not fun places for me because I didn’t like the negative energies that the living released when they were intoxicated. They lose their inhibitions and let loose what they were often not even aware of. After a few weeks, I ran into the businessman again. Although his life was in a way quite sad, his family kept him strong and I understood that he was only doing all the business trips to build a better tomorrow for his family. His sacrifices were strictly out of love. I decided to just follow him. We went to a few more cities until I found another man to follow. I didn’t know why I picked him, but although he was similar to the businessman I was following, this one had a different energy that attracted me. 

Being around his energy field was not easy, he seemed to have a large auric field so I attached myself to his computer. He was only on a short trip before he went home to his wife who seemed to carry a different source of energy from the rest of the world that I had seen. It didn’t take long before I noticed her communicating with other entities and disembodied souls. This was when I figured out why I chose to follow her husband; it was her that I wanted to meet, but I didn’t know how. It was obvious by then that she could see the ‘invisibles’, but then how come she hadn’t seen me? What did I have to do to make myself noticeable? Was she choosing to ignore me because I wasn’t worthy? Or was there something I needed to do to grab her attention? What was I supposed to get out of talking to her anyway? I wasn’t ready for the light, nor did I want to go to hell. What if she decided that hell was where I belonged and send me there? But I was tired of being here. Life was meaningless, the afterlife was worse. 

When her husband pulled out his computer, I had an idea. Maybe I could ask her to send an email of apology to my wife from my account. I could dictate it to her and she could send it out. I would include some details that only I would know so my wife wouldn’t think it was a fraud. If I could get that email sent out and receive forgiveness from my wife, then I could move on and face my parents in the light. So I held onto the computer, and although I had no idea how, I just thought hard about trying to get my email sent. Whatever I did seemed to have had the opposite effect. The husband was unable to log onto his computer. Oh sh*t, I made things worse. Now he couldn’t even access his computer to send the email for me even when his wife talked to me. But hold on, she had asked him to step aside and she sat down in front of the computer. Although he told her it wouldn’t work, after receiving the password from him, she just sat there in front of the computer and did nothing. What was she doing? Then suddenly I felt a connection. She ‘found’ me! How? How did that happen? I didn’t do a thing but somehow she just knew I was there and started talking to me as she typed in the password and unlocked his computer.

Our Conversation

B: Hi, who are you and why are you keeping my husband from using his computer? 

Me: what? How? How can you suddenly talk to me? Can you see me? Are you talking to me? I wasn’t trying to block him from using his computer.

B: Yes, I am talking to you, mister. I am capable of seeing you but I am choosing not to. However, I can still communicate with you this way. Please step aside while we talk and let my husband work at his computer.

Me: But I want him to send an email for me with my account.

B: Sorry, we cannot do that?

Me: Yes you can, I can give you my account details and password. I need you to send an email to my wife for me.

B: You are technically correct. It is physically possible for us to send an email on your behalf, however, I cannot accommodate that.

Me: But my wife is in deep emotional pains. I need to apologize to her. 

B: I can sense that though it is her lesson to learn as well as yours.

Me: Don’t you care about her suffering? You are heartless.

B: I do care and also understand why you think I am cold-hearted. However, how do you think it would make her feel if I indeed send that email with your account? Would that actually stop her heartache? Or would it hurt her more?

Me: I need to apologize to her so I can move onto the light to face my parents. They loved her like their own daughter. They would be very upset with me if they knew I had hurt her so much and never apologized to her before I died.

B: Here is your lesson to learn then. Imagine life as an exam. When you stumble upon a difficult question, you could choose to skip it for the easier ones or you could tackle this challenging one as best as you could and move on. However, when the time is up and your exam turned in, you could no longer go back to the teacher and asked to change an answer for you. That’s not how life works. Once your time is up, you don’t get to go back to fix things. That’s cheating if I do that for you. Things happened the way they did for a reason and that’s your lesson to learn as well as your wife’s.

Me: But then why do you have the ability to talk to us? And why was I led to you if not to help me fix my mistake? 

B: My job here is not to help you fix your mistakes nor to console your wife. When I accepted my abilities to communicate with disembodied souls, I was instructed to not intervene with the living. My role is not to help fix things but to help those stuck here learn their lessons so they could move on.

Me: I know my mistake; I learned already that I was the one who didn’t live my life to the fullest but blamed my wife for it. Isn’t that enough? Why then am I still here? Why haven’t I 'moved on’? And what about my wife? She did nothing wrong. Why does she deserve to be suffering because of my selfishness?

B: I am glad you came to the understanding of your lesson that you had not lived your own full life yet thought it was your wife’s fault. However, you have not forgiven yourself for having lived blandly, for having blamed her and hurt her. You have also not learned to cherish things right before you. You have not learned to grasp the opportunities to say what you needed to say immediately. And lastly, you have not learned to understand that forgiveness comes from within yourself. Even if your wife had said she forgave you, your guilt would continue to eat at you until you learned to forgive yourself.

Me: But it would be so much easier to forgive myself once I know that my wife has forgiven me because then I would at least know that she is no longer hurting.

B: Is that really so? Do you truly think that forgiving you means the pain is gone, that she would no longer be hurting within?

Me: … then how could I possibly forgive myself? Ever? And to think that I had hurt her forever?

B: First of all, you need to know that it is her choice whether she would be hurt forever. True that you hurt her, but only she can choose to let go of the pain. Nothing anyone could do nor say could wipe those tears away. She needs to do that by herself. Yes, it’s cruel that you created that situation which caused her pain and she now has to deal with, but there were plenty of chances for her to change the situation too and she chose not to. She allowed herself to be in that situation, to be in pain.

Me: How could you say that? You don’t even know what happened.

B: Your thoughts told me. You suspected that she knew you were cheating but chose not to confront you. She obliged when you asked her to leave instead of fighting to stay. You were right, if she had chosen to speak up, things might had been different, but she hadn’t. Those were her choices and now she has to live with the consequences of her decisions just as you died with yours. If she doesn’t learn from her own decision in this life, she would die an unhappy soul. But that’s her lesson, to learn to speak up for herself and to respect herself. Sacrificing her happiness to please you was not a true sign of love that she thought it was because if you had learned while you were alive that she consciously chose to suffer to make you happy, you would have felt guilty and might have hated her for it.

Me: Yes, I would have hated her for doing so, and would have also hated myself for putting her in that situation.

B: But the point is to realize that she was solely responsible for putting herself in that position. She wasn’t your prisoner; it was by her own volition that she was unhappy. She had a choice. The best you can do now is to wish for her to learn from her mistake and forgive herself. She is crying not because of the pains you caused her, but for the pains that she allowed herself to feel. Regret is what’s eating her, the reason why after many years she is still crying herself to sleep at night and unable to move on. ‘What if I had mentioned something? What if I had stayed? He wouldn’t have been on that road at that time of the evening the night he died if I was there for him to come home to. If I had said something about the affair, maybe we could have worked something out and still be together.’ She saw from your possession that you tried to call her the moment your car was hit and knew you were trying to make amends. She never saw the need to forgive you because she thinks it is all her fault, for not having been the wife that you needed her to be but only whom you wanted as your life partner. The realization that your needs and wants were different and she didn’t see it before your death is what haunts her now.

Me: Oh, how could I tell her that it wasn’t her fault? Why can’t you just make this one exception and send the email explaining things to her? Why would you only talk to the dead but not the living?

B: Because the living still has the chance to change things. It is their life lessons; it’s their own free will. There is no guarantee that she would learn even if I approach her. Plus if she really needs help, it is her choice to find a professional who can help her; there are plenty of those but very few people like me who could see the dead and would channel the divine’s messages to them. If I contact the living and intervene with their learning, I would be too busy to help those whose bodies have expired but their souls remained. You have seen how many souls are stuck here aimlessly, dwelling in whatever reasons that are keeping them here. How many people have you come across who could and would willingly help them? My calling is to help those who cannot go back to make changes anymore. To put things into perspective, what if your wife had died and moved on into the light already and you still feel the need to have her forgiveness before you could move on? I have had souls murdered centuries ago who wanted me to avenge them by killing their murderers and upon finding out that they had died long ago, wanted me to kill their offspring instead. Should I have done that in your opinion? I assume not, right? Then where should I draw the line between helping the dead and intervening with the living?

Me: What about those who have urgent messages they want to be delivered?

B: That’s their lesson to learn: to say and do what they should and not hold back. As for the living, like your wife, they have to learn to move on from whatever pains or ‘misfortunes’ they believed themselves to be in.

Me: I guess we all have to take responsibilities for our own decisions. But what about young children who were born into misfortunes?

B: They came here with a soul contract to bring awareness and compassion to the world under their own free will. The veil of unconsciousness made them forget when they were born, but it was their choice. It’s an entirely different topic that is also very important. You will understand better once you are in the light.

Me: Wow, there are souls who would choose to sacrifice themselves, to suffer, just to help others? That’s amazing to know. And you mean to say that I can meet souls like that in the light?

B: Yes, there are many souls in the light and much to learn there if you choose to do so. Your parents are waiting and I am sure they will have quite a few things to share with you, too!

Me: I should probably go into the light, admit to my parents what I did and learn from there. But I am sure I had been there many times, why haven’t I learned more? Why do I keep having to find out more?

B: Well, there’s a lot to learn and being in the light is like attending a lecture. You come into a new body to practice and test what you have learned so you can be ready for the next lesson. What you choose to learn in your next life is your choice. I see the light now, which means you have passed your lesson in this cycle. Go now and let your soul rest and learn. Come back to live again when you are ready. May the angels be with you always!

Me: I am glad I met a living one in this cycle. Thank you for doing what you do for lost souls like me. Take care!

Affirmation

I take full accountability for my own actions and forgive myself for having caused pains and regrets in myself and others. I allow others to take responsibility for their own decisions.