I sincerely...

He stared at those words, which weighed more than he had ever imagined. The words, in generality has a purpose and he crossed it. He didn't realize what he did. He was angry. So angry that he had to vent it out. It was his only solace, those words. So, he poured his words out filled with anger. He was over reacting to something that was so primal in itself. He had no idea. Well because he was angry. Anger dissolves a person inhibiting any rational thinking. Yeah, he wasn't thinking straight, hell, he wasn't thinking at all. There was a fine line between what's good and whats' appropriate, what to write and what not to write. What he didn't realize that he crossed it. He just didn't cross that fine separation breaking the few barriers he never saw coming and stamped all over it. There was no line. There was no rationality in thoughts and the words burnt like a raging wildfire. He lost it, in the fit of anger. Anger. An expression of feeling that brought more destruction than peace.

It was like a spoken word. Once out, you can't take back. That's why they tell you think twice before saying. He was there staring at those words that burnt everything to the ground. There was no return, there never could be. The damage has been done. He drowned into his thoughts cursing himself for being such an arse, for letting something as fickle as an anger take control. How could he let it? It had consequences, everything has consequences. Just as everything seemed like normal, just when he turned a new leaf, just when he was regaining himself, he lost it. He had it coming. He had it coming and it hurt him bad, real bad.

It was out. He couldn't sleep that night. His conscious was raging a battle to undo it, take back, each word, every letter. But the not-so-friendly anger overpowered the peaceful conscious. He didn't sleep last night, he couldn't. Like he didn't sleep that night. But the next day, he took that deep dramatic walk, the walk of Talk-To-Self, in his personal space namely mind. And it hit him. He was wrong, he was very wrong all along. He lived in the bubble he created around himself imagining people to fall into their character as he imagined them to. He was wrong. People were different. They weren't characters in his story to be like how he imagined them to be. They had their own story. The were unique. They were awesome. They were people. As realization hit his conscious deep enough, he embraced the people for being themselves. He took down that piece of garbage he wrote when he thought he was doing himself a favor by being so rude absentmindedly. It never saw the light of the day. But he made a mistake, somewhere down the lane, he did something horrible and brought it into the limelight. It was still hidden, still lingering in the dark away from the limelight.

But one unfortunate afternoon, he found his worst fear as he stared at those words, which weighed more than he imagined. The words quoting an excerpt of what he wrote that day, that sleepless night when he was not himself, when he was too drunk on anger. He knew it would hurt, those words that carried the likes of harsh and insensitive. How could I do this to a friend?, he battled another sleepless night. How could he? Someone he admires beyond comparison for originality, for being who they are and what they are. Now, he is trying to fix that broken glass that shattered right in front of him, piecing together piece by piece. But it won't be the same, will it be? He knows it. And any amount of apologizing could bring back anything to normalcy. He just hopes that everything goes back to normal and that his friend forgives him for his irrational stupidity. He doesn't want his one little (not so little apparently) mistake to ruin his friendship. And one last time (or may be just one of the beginnings) he apologizes for being that horrible person without empathy. "I sincerely apologize".