I couldn't quite believe it.
Even though the news came from reliable and close sources, I still couldn't believe the text that had flashed across the scene. The close sources, in this case, are as close as close can be. More 'meeting up almost every other weekend for the past five-odd years' rather than 'sources close to the star claims...'. In other words, I had nothing that could tell me, "Yup, this is not what it seems. It's just a flash in the pan."
But it isn't. Instead of flashing in the pan, I felt as if someone had lifted it, slammed it across my right cheek, double-backed across my left, and left me lying there to die. My body certainly felt cold, in a very metaphorical sense.
Despite being able to email him, I opted to hold back, wanting to ask him for myself directly. I did not want the time-lapse that inevitably comes with the territory of electronic mails; rather, I want the more direct, more immediate, and inevitably more painful (at least in the short term) method of dealing with it. I pull of the band aid in one swift swoop, rather than prolonging the pain.
And so I did. And then he did. And then I fell silent. For a long moment, I felt as if I had nothing else that I could say to change his mind. Not that I had wanted to, for his is a mind that is akin to a rock once hardened. It is his life, and it is his choice. Furthermore, he knows how I feel about it. Trumpeting it vainly once again merely serves to irritate, rather than to chance.
"Will you write it?" I suddenly asked him. "For my blog, I mean."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes." I suddenly realised that though I had extended such an offer to people in the past, I had never wanted it to be taken up as much as I wanted it now. "In your own words. The reasons. The whys, hows, whens."
Pause. "It might be harsh," he countered after a while. "Are you sure you want it on your blog?"
"Yes, I do."
Pause. An even longer moment, one that feels like it could last long enough for him to change his mind. A vain hope, but an all-the-more vainglorious failure for it.