Ache. That’s what it is, primarily. Ache, clubbed with mild fear.
Maybe it is not fear, maybe it is anxiety: Have I overstepped the limits?
But, regret? Regret there is none.
For it was a carefully thought out action, considered and reconsidered over months and perhaps years.
It was made to appear spontaneous. It was meant to come out as “Oh, by the way-“
It wasn’t spontaneous, it wasn’t sudden. It wasn’t by-the-way.
It was polished and diluted and mellowed down till it appeared insignificant, unimportant, almost invisible. Just enough to seem as if it had just popped up. Out of the blue.
It was planned.
Schemed, if you like.
That’s why there’s no regret. It was done because it had to be done. It had to be gotten over with.
If it were not done, there would have been no peace. The what-might-have-beens could have become exercises in suffocation.
What ensues has to be taken in its stride. What could ensue – the possibilities – cover the wide and coloured spectrum of right to wrong.
That’s why even the ache is tolerable.
The fear is reasonable.
The anxiety is manageable.
Everything seems natural.
And they will pass.
It will take time, but they will pass.

Just like everything else.