Not in all, but undeniably in most relationships, there’s this chunk of time called period of infidelity – a word, which literally sounds beautiful, but whose meaning’s never been in any way pleasing. It’s been there like a curse cast to bring love to damnation. Amen to this scary intangible thing, yes. It could rob anyone of his or her faith, trust, love, and innocence.
Yet, something must have been left to make people reconsider, forgive, and forget like nothing happened. And there are three possibilities as to what happens next.
First, there must be a reason to save the relationship. Second, there would be a way to save the relationship. Third, there could be a chance to save the relationship.
A chance, there could be. Or two. Or three. The fourth would be what enormous effort…and risk. Suicide, they call it.
I’m no pure feminist but let me lay the limelight on my gender, and on the more common situation. If for example, a boy cheats on a girl, what could chances mean?
- If the girl considers a third chance after having been cheated for the second time, she is crazy for the boy. For cases like this, I force myself to believe in this “crazy little thing called love” or this “crazy, stupid love”. But no, it’s not about the last word. A third chance is just crazy…and stupid.
- If she considers a second chance after being cheated once, she loves the boy. Maybe she believes in second chances, and in “love is sweeter the second time around”, and in “one more chance”. It’s crazy. Okay, not that stupid.
- If she doesn’t consider a chance, she loves herself. It ain’t crazy; ain’t stupid. Just an unforgiving sanity.
Simply something like that. So how many chances would you spare?