On this valentines, I decided to reminisce my first love. However, this happy thought was lost in the alley down memory lane, and instead the bad memories after that lost love stood in front of me, like a killer on the prowl, waiting for its next prey.
My days after losing him were turned into a tedious fight, that I was battling with someone that was no longer me- getting hit on all my sore spots, again and again, just awaiting my losing self to thud on the ground, lifelessly.
The supposed journalling of my thoughts had now turned into a vigorous task from a stressbuster. The emotion of sadness overpowered me at all times, the things we talked about having the same effect as those things had started appearing (or seemed to appear) around me. Maybe I am going crazy? I thought. Yeah, thats what love does to one; dragging individuals from one end of happiness to the other end of borderline depression is its OTP.
Within a week or so, after being tempted to message him with a confession of my never ending love for him, it seemed that if I had my playlist with me, I could do anything. I was invincible if the lyrics that poured out of tunes had a connection to the events that had or were occuring to me. I would love to listen to this music in solidarity- in cabs or empty classrooms.
One day, a heartbreaking irony dawned upon me, through the tune of Waves by Dean Lewis. The love that we plead and pray for, is the love that we think we are capable of, just the way how we try to be nice to people around us. However, the truth is not so sweet. The person who your love is bestowed in, has an entirely different idea of this romantic phenomenon. If you are in this mindset, that you will, one day, find your better half who will share the same romantic fantasies as yours, sorry to break it out to you, but you are so wrong.
The radical cause of great expectations is imagination. Each one of us is like a puppy in a garden while we dream- free to do what we admire. Now if you wish to go chew the grass and your better half wants to dig some puddles, let them do it!
The boundaries that you put up in order to find solace within your small cocoon of imagination are directly proportional to your better half’s freedom, which is at stake due to your overpowered control-freak-ish-ness.
Being way too overwhelmed by this discovery,
I decided to go on a walk. Your house was in the same vicinity and habitat as mine, so I decided to stray away from the reality for a little while. “The beach.” I whispered to myself.
Plugging my earphones in, the voice of Arctic Monkeys swayed me into a world where I was still with him. My walk to the park was clouded by the lyrics of the song, having no details whatsover about how I ended up safely to the threshold of the beach.
Sitting on one of the stray rock collection by the shore, I saw you.
But my heart didn’t thump like it used to. It didn’t scream with melodies that were heard while I was laying in my bed, fantasizing about you. Neither did tears pool in my eyes, which was highly expected at the moment. Nothing happened. I was frozen.
Not because you were pouring the brown from your eyes into mine, but because you weren’t the only one.
My eyes travelled down south to your entertwined hands with her. I gazed up, looked at her, then looked at you, smiled, and stood up. Taking strides back towards the threshold of the beach, I looked at the purple-orange sunset. It signified us coming to an end, but this time it wasn’t full of despair-it was beautiful; a beautiful disaster.
On my way back, I took out my phone and wrote my first poem:
Those talks and nights
have always been
my escape into
where i am in
your arms and
no one but us
would make me
make me think
i’m not the only one
to be so dazed
but maybe you
felt a rushing need
to rise above from
the grave dead
you ran your way
out of the woods
and left something
way too soon
to be true.