Love

What Now, Love?

My sincere apologies to everyone. I have been so caught up with everything that’s been going on with my life, that I neglected to write. Most importantly, I neglected the creative thirst that nourishes my spiritual life. And it’s been crowding me with details, thoughts, ideas, experiences that are just retreating to the recesses of my consciousness as stale energy. Lots of things run through my mind every day, being in a new city, being in love, being on top of the world. Why, why, why hadn’t I taken some time out of my own indolence to write about them? Now, it seems like they are all lost — because I’ve lost the immediacy of the euphoria, the proximity of emotions, the freshness of experiences to be able to capture them as clearly as it happened.

I wished I had written sooner, especially about the bursts of glow I felt as I was falling in love, over and over again, with K. When I think about him, the most beautiful image is one of his face, smiling, glowing with redness and love oozing out of his every pore in bed against a background of misty sunshine. Looking at the source of his immense joy. Me. Tears still flow down my cheeks every time I think of that moment, when I never thought I could experience such love from such a place of purity and sincerity. The kind of love people said was myth, that it only happened in Hollywood movies and fairytales. The kind of love that will make you lose yourself completely in the other.

Now, that seems somewhat far away, and perhaps retreated into the storage area of the mind, where you wonder if those memories belonged to another time, or to someone else. I guess we always knew — or at least I did — that reality would eventually sink in. Nobody could just live on love and cuddles. Or maybe just not us.

I never thought I would fall so hard for K, even though I was conscious of the fact that I was looking for love to fill the empty dark hole that had gotten bigger over the years. He was younger, by a year, a Math nerd, and made me laugh. Being with him was like I lived again — I felt like I was able to breathe again, there was spring in my step. I was able to cook, when I could never get the energy or courage to do it. He made me feel like anything was possible. Everything was within reach. I was smitten with this boyish man, who was responsible to a fault and showered me with endless attention. Who both charmed and amused me with factual anecdotes of the “fascinating” life of ants. Because of him, I was also able to play the piano again. I was willing to give my life and try anything to live up to that amazing wonder woman that he thought I was.

But as I’ve told him time and again, I am not this amazing infallible woman he makes me out to be. I am, if anything, one of the most fragile, emotional people I know. The cracks would show sooner or later. And they are beginning to manifest into a valley of insecurity that I cannot live up to expectations, or that we have peaked and may never go back to the time when love made us both glow. That all would go downhill from here — like every other relationship I’ve ever had. Every cliche about love would hereby be made factual. And we would be a statistic in the sea of lonely people who found love — and lost it. Our great love would cease to be nothing.

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