Another heart we keep on chasing, a dream of love we seek… but we end up in a solitary state of endless blues. Or we just get habituated with a clichéd idea of love, and spend our whole life trying to nourish that idea until we get fed up with it and die, and occasionally stop feeling, and seldom commit suicide.
But love is there, somewhere. Some people actually get that beautiful disease, some pretend to be affected. It’s just an illusion of hormones; but it’s there, for real, in whatsoever way, as a fictitious part of reality, or not.
People do fall in love. And in the other hand they also fall out of love.
So did We. Me and Him.
Some people are still not accustomed to the idea of falling out of love. But without any offence towards anybody’s personal view, I think this idea is true if, and only if something called “Love” exists.
Before I could completely figure out what I was going to commit, he left. And I stood under a big tree of uncertainty. It was so affecting that I became dumb, and also, pretty much numb. I was unsure of myself. But I was very much sure of him. I thought he actually loved me, and may be he did. I don’t know that now, and will probably never know.
He rushed through some busy street of Bombay while I, in my city, devoted myself to college life. There was literal distance. But also the hearts stood apart. What I thought was love, started to fade away. His face was getting more blurry, his voice was getting fainter, as days passed by. I sensed the distance clearly as the monsoon brought me pain of emptiness. We were not "in" love anymore, we were not speaking our hearts out…we were saying words, we were keeping in touch.
Been days since I talked to him, I thought of calling him, and I did,
“Wow, it’s you.” He said recognizing my voice. But those three words told me, “It’s the same with him what’s with you”. He didn’t love me anymore. He told me he was in the city, he came back. But I wasn’t there; I was at the end point of India, on vacation.
Coming back with a lonely heart, I blamed myself for what I did. I couldn’t love him, and I couldn’t make him love me either; because you can’t do that, it’s against the invisible law.
He told me he fell in love again, with someone else, and I wasn’t sure if it was love, but I was relieved with a certain idiotic idea about he being the bad guy as he broke up; I didn’t. Soon I realized, it didn’t mean a thing.
Now I’m alone again, back to place I was at, and happy on my own. Earlier I was sad, the sting of not being able to be loved, the pain of letting go off something... because no matter what, we had something, and that was for real.
But being sad seemed so unfair to me; I had no right to be sad. I had lost tears long ago. But hard was to let go off that pain. So I landed in the perfect state of indifference, where you feel nothing. It’s as if I’ve never loved him; as if I’ve never loved anybody; as if I’m not capable of loving anybody anymore. The moments we had, they all seem fake, the smiles, touches, feelings, everything. I am okay, but I’m wrong.
I’m alright, yet I’m not.
And I don’t know how to get out of this place yet.
I’m still trying,
