“It was never love, it was a sort of obsession and years later you are still not over it”, that is what someone recently told me, of course with an “I’ve been there”, to ‘soften the blow’.
Well do let us begin with the last part of that little pep talk, NO you have NOT been there.
Believe me I know more than you could ever imagine that the term love is very subjective. There has been a myriad of situations where I sat darting my glances inwards and wondering, is this love? Sometimes the answer was affirmative and other times not so much. Sometimes hindsight changed even that. Sometimes you cannot define an experience, a feeling in your life until another one has happened that gives full form to it. I do know all this.
Yet, I will tell you if there is a singular experience in my life that I never doubted for a moment and I know I never will, it was falling in love with him.
Today people so often think they can define ‘true love’ in black and white (and by that I mean black ink on a white screen with listicals telling you 10 ways you know you have found ‘true love’), they tell you what is good for you and what is harmful, they chart out for you the very neatly trimmed borderline between love and obsession all the while forgetting what was taught to us from the very start, if you think you can adequately and succinctly pen it down in all its entirety, it probably isn’t the real thing.
We are all trying to capture it, because we as a race love to capture anything beautiful and cage it, but we often forget that the act isn’t of capturing but of setting free, because love is caged inside us, awaiting for us to let it loose.
So my love was a little wild, my love was a little obsessive, my love was a little more than a little toxic, but my love was breath-taking and it was real.
My love was the first time he stood before me on that staircase and his eyes darted into mine, my love was the first time he called me ‘my dear Rose’ in a text message; it floored me, my love was the awkward text message he sent me telling me why he wanted me as his girlfriend, my love was our first kiss and it tasted like bubblegum, my love was our second kiss and it felt like Christmas; the best one in sixteen years, my love was the funny little hat on his head, the sparkle in his wide eyes; I could swear there were galaxies tucked away inside them, my love was his full lips that forever had a mischievous smile dangling from them, my love was his long, soft fingers and his tattooed arm, my love was the first time I touched his tattooed arm, my love was the little pink penknife he gifted me; the poem he wrote along with it, my love was the eternity ring pendant he slipped me through the window of my slowly moving school van, my love was watching him attempt to speak with pigeons, my love was the way I could swear my heart stopped beating when I first realized he was moving away to a different continent, my love was the endless mails I would write him every single day when he was away; he may not have been a soldier but I was his faithful lover back at home, my love was the two times he told me he didn’t want to be with me and when all of my love poured down my eyes for days on end; orange juice helped me a lot for some reason, my love was carving time that was his and only his in between a whirlwind of a life, my love was meeting him after nineteen months and instantly feeling all the time give in to the massive blow of my love; my love was the look in his eyes that night, my love was the most real relation I could ever have wrapped into then days that winter, my love was that cab ride fighting every human urge to not reach out and hold his hand, my love was that second hug I wrapped him into because I knew it may just be the last, my love was walking away that cold night and not daring to turn back, because I knew it would be the last time I was walking away from him.
My love wasn’t perfect, but like I always say what even is perfect?
My love was real.
It was magnificent, it was destructive, it was elating and it was psychotic. It changed me in ways I could never have imagined and it took away from me a part that will never be mine again.
Now let us take a look at your first remark, and once again I will have to tell you that you are wrong, it WAS love and it is love.
Now when I look back, it is mostly nostalgia laced around some very vivid memories, but if there is one thing I will never forget, it is how he made me feel. If that isn’t love, nothing in this world will ever be.
So I want to talk about him when I feel like it, I don’t care who judges me, I don’t care who says that it never was love or that it still is, I want to talk about him because no one else made my heart beat that way.