Sometimes we find it hard to accept, even when the writing is on the wall. It is written in front of you, you see the pen, you see the hand, you see the writing, yet you nod in non acceptance. You believe what your eyes are telling you is a lie, what your ear help travel to your mind is a lie, what you feel inside you, that, that is the truth.
When you can still feel the love swirl inside your belly, gushing with your blood, when you know you have truly loved, you believe you will be loved. You may ask why i write so about love, let me tell you...we are because of love, everything lives because of love. Why else would a man toil all day, learn new languages, push the limits, find new meanings? To share, to find that peculiar sense of happiness you only feel when you love. Why struggle with life and it’s puny games if there is no one person who would drop everything for you in the name of love? What have you earned besides the glint and twinkle of riches, the ink that wrote your name, the mouth that spoke your name, where it valued the most, these things, as i call them, hold no value, what have you in your wallet that i consider love?
You may tell me its romantic and that romance has no reasoning with the real life, i tell you my dear fella, real life as you may call it is not worth living without a bit of loving. You define practical as the way to live, i feel its an excuse to hide behind, lug your emotions and fears in this new garb and never be brave enough to face your own self, your own fears. Practical is one big disguise, you are never weak, never hurt, never concerned, the world becomes your room, where you know exactly what is where, a handful of insensitivity in the morning, right there, next to the jar of sarcasm, your favourite perfume of nonchalance, your mug full of pretence that keeps you going all day...you know exactly where what is and you feel, you are happy, how can you be happy, you traded your soul with this disguise, you can’t feel anything, not even happiness, not even in this room.
You may have re iterated what you think is the writing in hand by fate, but everytime i repeat after you, the words sound different in my mouth. They say you have no courage and the wisdom to know better, you believe you have found the answer, but don’t know that in the long run it doesn’t matter. I hear you when you say it again and again and i hear you when you go silent, hopelessly hoping i would understand. What you don’t know is that my ear is tuned to your heart that sings a song to me, you can’t hear it, you have forgotten what it is to love.
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