Second chances

I saw a middle aged man the other day on the train. It was around 6pm, the usual crowd jostling around the cabins for a spot to rest their tired legs. He was on the train before I boarded it but I didn't notice him, and even when I did, it was his hands that made me stopped and pondered.

His hands looked sad, for they were tarnished by the injustices of time and life, wrinkled far beyond the body's age and his nails looked weak from struggles.

His left hand is attached with a ring on the fourth finger. A common testiment that you have found the partner of your life.

Yet, his right hand bore another ring on his pinkie, a solemn declaration of a love lost. A pain too much to bear and to divert his pain away he focused his thoughts onto the only thing that binded them in the past, and hopefully will continue to bind their hearts together.

And he put his hands together in a gentle lock, allowing the fingers to feel each other in a soft embrace.

I looked up at him and wondered, why would he want the chance to suffer the pain of losing the person you love so dear once again?