Day 3: As I sat on the edge of my bed, nursing the aftermath of my three-day pity party, I couldn’t help but feel the weight of my own self-loathing. Strewn clothes and empty bottles bore testimony to the tempest that had raged within me over the past 72 hours. I glanced at my phone, the screen displaying a photo of my wife, Brenna. I realized that I needed to find a way to apologize to her, to communicate the depths of my regret. It was then that “Love Hurts” by Incubus started playing in my head. It was a song that always reminded me of my old days with Morning View, the Incubus tribute band I had once been a part of. Back then, the lyrics had held a different meaning for me. But now, in the midst of my self-inflicted torment, they seemed like the perfect way to say “I’m sorry”. As I hit record on the Smule app, I took a deep breath, bracing myself for the emotional outpouring that was about to ensue. I let the music take over, guiding me back to the days when I’d first fallen in love with Brenna. Memories of our laughter, our dreams, and the unbreakable bond we’d shared. With each passing verse, I poured my heart into the song, hoping that somehow, she would hear the sincerity in my voice. As I sang the chorus, “Love hurts, but sometimes it’s a good hurt, and it feels like I’m alive,” I felt a lump in my throat. I knew that despite the pain I had caused, our love was still strong, and it was worth fighting for.
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