Everyone’s favourite, or dreaded time of the year is nearing; Valentine’s Day- the day treasured by some, despised by others.
Many have begun lists around me, whether it’s the kind of chocolates you need to buy, or the tips to shed those extra pounds to fit into that perfect red dress- heart shaped lists and chocolates are fast spreading this month. So, among all these lists, I decided to make one of my own… Of course, for all those who know me, and those who have begun to know me- For me, love means something entirely different. There’s no mush, there are no flowers, no sweet nothings, no butterflies in the stomach- there’s something a lot more personal. For if there’s one thing these years have taught me about Love-
You can’t Love unless you’ve learned, and there’s no other way, other than the hard way, the toughest lesson on Earth, and probably even beyond the Universes, that Love can only be felt entirely and completely in the absence of it.
Love, I repeat, can only be felt entirely and completely in the absence of it.
Love should destroy you, consume you, engulf you. Love should be the reason you cry; Love haunts you; Love begs for you. Love is you being in control of everything around you; Love is what rushes out of your control when you’ve reached the limits of its boundaries. Love, love denies you of all things logical and correct. Love is illogical, immoral, immortal.
Love, love makes you want strange things, and most often, do even strange things. And no, I don’t mean inciting pictures, or steaming messages- I mean a plain that’s dangerous, that’s inviting, that’s prohibited too.
Love makes you want Love even more, harder, stronger… Love makes your heart beat faster, your tongue gently lick your lips, making you bit your lip slowly, but deeply. Your eyes close invitingly, you blink slower; you let your eyes smile for you instead. Your lips, slightly open, invitingly.
Love drowns you. Whether it’s in misery, passion or a smile. Love completes you, but leaves you aching for more.
Love is complicated. Love is dictated by the past, scared of the future, and never, never, never learns to live in the moment. Silhouettes want more then you should give.
Love begs you to listen. Love begs you to speak. Love begs you to touch. Love begs you to see. Love begs you to smell. Memories. Lingering. Stay. Hold On. Complicate. Leave. Please. Patience. Hope.
It is not unrequited Love that one should fear, for that is Love that probably never was yours to find or have; the most dangerous Love, for all people, lovers- new and old, are the words,
His words make me weak. His lips, soft, seductive- drowning, suffocating me. Lovers hold on, to everything. Lovers hold on, to anything.Lovers, give more than they can take. His kisses lingering on my body, breath and soul. His heart, never mind to keep. His love, reserved for someone, probably even me- A truth he would never tell. And if I dressed in red? Lovers hold on, to everything. Lovers hold on, to anything.I write to him, yet he calls me his Muse.What if I woke up tomorrow, and discovered, he was my muse to being with- and my words, my poetry, this was my love to give and take.Would you then, be asking me, “For One Last Night?”
It’s strange how writing this leaves me with nothing but a smile on my face, for as someone I deeply love and admire once told me, “It’s better to have loved and lost, then to never have loved at all.” Conversations of another time, conversations of two soulmates that now seem to exist only in my fairytales and words- and yet today, they’ve come back, just before Valentine’s Day, not to haunt me, or scare me, but to remind me of the beautiful sadness there is in this feeling of having loved, being loved, loving- and most importantly, letting go.
I wonder, what does this 14th February have in store for me?
The writer inside me aches for a story, while the lover inside me hopes for a new beginning.