Word of the Day

Kismet: noun; Destiny; fate.


He looked down at his wrist. In his other hand was a small shaving razor. He brought the razor to his wrist, it trembled in his hand and he wondered if he should go through with it. He pressed the blade flat against his wrist and sighed.

"What the hell. How did I get to the point where I would even consider this?"

He thought about it. The next chain of events that ran through his head played quickly but vividly; it started with his girlfriend of five years dumping him by sending her new boyfriend with a "I'm sorry" card, his boss handing him a pink slip because his company was bought out by a national conglomerate and was outsourcing, his best friend of 10 years suddenly becoming a "bro" and telling him that he wasn't cool enough to "chill" anymore. All in all, he believed that he had every right to end it all and jump right to the end of the book. A final page with a single red period.

He slumped up against the bathtub, and dropped the razor onto the floor.

"What the hell. Really? Is this what fate has in store for me?"

He wanted to pick up the razor again but something in the back of his mind kept telling him not to do it. The voice, a familiar, gentle and sweet voice kept repeating "don't do it." He closed his eyes and tried to put a face to that voice, but who he saw surprised him.

He was brought back fifteen years. He was inside his room and standing in front of him was his first girlfriend. She had her hands on his cheeks, and she gazed deeply into his eyes.

"I have faith in you. Don't give up okay?" and as she finished saying those words she leaned in to kiss him.

He couldn't help but to cry. The memory came to him so vividly, her hands warm against his cold cheeks, her soft lips pressed against his. He wished again for that warmth that very moment, for her warmth to comfort him. In his second greatest time of need she was there again. He continued to sit there, crying tears of sadness, pain, joy and happiness at the same time.

He regained his composure and picked himself up off the bathroom floor. He washed his face dry, wiped it off and walked over to his telephone. He picked it up and dialed, it started to ring on the other side.

"Hello Jane? It's John. It has been a while hasn't it? Listen, I was wondering if you'd be free sometime soon...."



-This is the story of how I met your mother-