Prologue
A simple thing. An orange. Its vibrant color and refreshing aroma captivate the senses. Its juicy flesh a burst of tangy sweetness. But it is not until you share this humble fruit with someone that its true significance unfolds. An orange, when given to another person, carries within it the weight of trust. It signifies a willingness to let down walls and open up one's vulnerabilities. It becomes a tangible representation of the deepening connection between individuals, a bridge between hearts.
And what happens when that trust is broken? When one half of the orange is squeezed empty, while the other half is left untouched? Is it, not a cruel fate, that which is left to rot? Like the fruit itself, the relationship has gone moldy. Such is the tragic fate of the orange. A fruit so pure and innocent, left to die and decay alone. A fruit once whole and loved, is now abandoned and discarded. Its insides are left to die, eaten away by the ravages of time. A once-blooming fruit is now a rotten, abandoned husk of its former self.
Who is to blame for the decay of this trust and the relationship that once was? Who is the one responsible for letting it become rotten, to be left to the elements to ruin and decay? Therein lies the biggest question of all. Because while both of us shared this fruit, the one allowed it to become bitter and unedible. Am I the one to blame? Am I the one responsible for letting it rot? The one who allowed this once sweet harmony to become bitter? I wonder, if I do place blame on myself, will you feel less rotten? Or will you allow yourself to fall apart, while I bear the weight of the guilt?
Or, should I blame you for running from this fruit just because it's now rotten? For running from our love just because it's now-bitter, refusing to recognize its true beauty and significance hidden beneath the surface? Refusing to realize that even the most rotten of fruits can be restored to their original state? That our love, no matter how sour and bitter it might seem, can be redeemed and made whole again simply through trust and effort?
As the fruit rots, and slowly dies, its once sweet aroma becomes pungent and foul. The sweet scent of trust and vulnerability has morphed into something sickening. It no longer represents safety, protection, and warmth, but rather a stench of distrust, doubt, and fear.
I'm left to stare at its ruined state. I'm forced to stay with it because you didn't take my hand and lead me to a new orange tree, blooming with succulent fruit ready to be shared, ready to trust, and to love anew. I'm forced to stay with our bitter fruit because you were too scared of our relationship becoming a rotten husk. Because you refused to redeem it and restore it to its former glory. And for that... for that, I blame you.
