Many believe, men were built to be tough, rough around the edges with nerves of steel. They barely cried in public, but does that mean they don't have shallow tears? Sweetness may not be something they practised, although others had broken that barrier a long time ago. Men were made to be powerful, but some had fallen down the rabbit hole, one too many times. They were expected to stand even with broken legs, and when they dwindle, some may mock while others might understand.
***

San Fernando Correctional (North wing)

He had been incarcerated for a crime he knew he didn't commit, yet the justice system failed to unearth the truth. Sentenced with 40 years to life imprisonment, he left behind a wife and five beautiful children. The many nights he cried himself to sleep, praying for the injustice to reverse itself, left him with a hateful heart, filled with bitterness and anger. As he fumbled with the Letter he found on the floor, he couldn't help but remember the vow he made years ago. A vow which he intended to keep, were it not for the cruel game destiny threw on his feet.

He closed his eyes as he sat motionless on a cold tiled floor, one leg bent while the other laid flat on the tiled surface. He could feel his own vow, rolling out of his tongue. To have and to hold, for richer or poorer, in sickness or in health, till death do we part.

He opened the folded letter and stared at it again. The brownish splatter on the paper was far too obvious. Bitter tears of a man with a broken heart, that's what they were.

How many nights had he too, written a letter? Letters that ceased to receive a reply, five years after his incarceration. How many salty liquids had he too let drop on an innocent paper, smudging the ink on them that turned the words into an incomprehensible line?

Maria, how blind could she be? Are women blind when it came to the pain of a Man? Are women too fixated on the happy and sweet side of a Man? Maybe, if they could learn to read between the lines, open their eyes, and go beyond what they expected, maybe, they'd understand that even heroes bleed. Even men shed unsung tears. Men do wet their pillows at night with salty fluids, maybe not as grand as that of a woman, but they do. The letter's owner did, he did, and most probably, other men did too.

Rainier Mathews blinked back the tears from his eyes. Once more, he gazed at the letter and read through the lines a second time.
***

Dear Maria,

     How are you? Today, I felt the loss of you, in a way that exceeded my longing in the previous years. The inmate beside my cell announced that his daughter was about to get married. How I long to receive a letter too, to smell the fresh wind from the outside on a piece of a white envelope. To hear from you, to have you tell me about your kids. Is Valerie married yet? Did she grow up to be a looker, just like you?

     Maria, contrary to what you might think. I don't loathe your wedding day. Do you know why? It's because I also made my vow to you, on that same altar, where you stood with a blinding white dress. That's why, I dreaded that day, but I could never hate it.

     February 14, 1963, how could I ever forget that day? I woke up with a heavy heart, tears stained my cheek before I could even drag myself out of bed. My chest felt heavy, like a thousand pounds were resting on it, crushing the bones beneath, in an unforgiving manner. I felt my heartbeat uncontrollably, despite my body, being given a good night's rest. Yes, Maria, I slept peacefully, it may be due to the pills I took before I went to bed. Did I try to kill myself? No, I can never do that, not unless I'm certain of your safety.

     I took a shower, and after, forced a spoon of cereal inside my mouth. My throat was constricting at that time, so I was barely able to swallow that lump of food. My stubborn tears kept falling, turning the milk on my breakfast salty. My sight was so blurred and movements sloppy, that I ended up spilling the next spoon of cereal on myself. Luckily, I wasn't wearing the robe I bought from the priest's assistant. Yes, Maria, the man who stood behind the priest during your wedding was me. Your eyes were so fixed on Elvis, that you never shared a single glance towards the man who stood only a few feet from you or the crowd for that matter.

     When I arrived at the Garden of Juliet: the place where the wedding was to be held. I felt like a man on the path of a tornado. A man who was ready to be torn into pieces. A foolish soul who would welcome the pain with a smile. A mute who could only hold his tongue. A stupid man who could only listen to you, giving your vows to another. A deaf man, to the wails of his own heart.

     Maria, when the procession of your bridesmaids began, I saw all my memories of you dangling in front of me. When your groom walked up to the Isles, I had to stop my shivering fingers from taking one of the knives I kept inside my robe's pocket. He was smiling so brightly, I wanted to rip his lips off of his face. His eyes were shining, I wanted nothing more but to see his sight fade. I wanted the ground beneath him to break, oh how I prayed for an earthquake in those few seconds. I wanted him so much to disappear. But that was all I could do Maria, to hope, to want, to pray.

     When the music took another tune, I knew it was time. You slowly emerged amidst the showering of petals, walking over a white makeshift Isle with a dazzling smile on your face. You looked like a miracle; I could barely keep my eyes off of you. You kept blinding my sight with a spark of white, a soft loving gaze, and a splash of dark long ebony hair. It was perfection.

     I watched how you kept a firm grip on your mother and uncle's arm, as they slowly guided you towards your groom.

     When you came closer to him at the altar, it felt like a wild beast appeared before me, which sent my heart into a dance of unimaginable terror. A torrent of crippling emotion engulfed my whole being, leaving a debilitating pain that kept bouncing between my toes to my head, freezing my veins in its wake, until it felt like the blood inside me stopped circulating. Tears built up at the side of my eyes, I tried to will the ducts not to push them out. At least, not at that moment.

     Where had all my prayers gone? Did they fall on deaf ears? Was my voice too soft for any of the beings in heaven to hear? Was the blood I shed and the pain I felt not enough for me to have a piece of heaven? Was it a punishment for the crimes I have committed? If so, then why? Why did the heavens allow me to love you so much? If I was condemned for my sins. Why didn't the devil himself stepped in to give me what I wanted?

     Was there nothing for me Maria? Nothing for me at all?

     I watched how your mother handed you over to him. I flinched when you took his arm and smiled. When the two of you finally stood in front of each other, I tilted my head. I turned towards the sunlight, fearing the darkness that was creeping from behind me. All I needed to do was keep staring at the sun, and the brewing evil within would never break free. My shadow stood like a scarecrow behind my back, nudging me to move forward, to claim what was rightfully mine. But Maria, I could never hurt you. If I had to love what you valued, just so you could have the happiness I prayed for you, then I would.

     I was barely awake when the priest finally asked the groom to give his vows. So, in silence I gave mine.

     Maria Ventura, I promise an everlasting truth to every word I say. If he gives you happiness, then I will never stand in his way. If he makes you smile, then I will never bring him harm. I wish you all the best in this world. I pray for all the safety every angel and saint could offer, if I still have one guarding me, may it leave my side and stay with you instead. Double protection to prevent any harm to come your way. But Maria, if he ever breaks your heart, if your happy tears turn into acid once more, if he plants a spear inside your fragile soul, I will be there. If he ever leaves, I will take his place. If he ever cheats, I will rip him apart.

If he fails to keep his promises, I will uphold every word in mine.

     Maria? The cold wind of December came once more. The joyful music of Christ's birth echoed all around our prison walls. Were the guards doing it on purpose Maria? Are they deliberately reminding me that I will never see the outside once more? To see you plate an intricately made Christmas cake on a table? I miss you.

Love Forever
Your Silent Knight

***

After reading the letter. The convict shook his head and murmured, "What is a vow if you're not there to keep it?"

A vow, his own is nothing more but a memory, for the woman he loved had moved on, leaving their vows trampled and defeated by circumstance.

If men are weak, then so are women, the convict thought to himself, before he let drop, the single tear that had been itching to roll down his cheek.