Why My Love Won't Materialize
What is this feeling that has my back against the wall?
What is this feeling that is giving me sleepless nights?
What is this feeling that has me waiting for something to materialize?
I see hope lingering at the end of the relinquished street.
I see flowers blooming on the scorced terrain of my lonesome shore.
I see the unbiased compromise of my pestiferous desires.
Is this love, or just a confusion?
Maybe it was her laugh,
Or her eyes,
Or her smile,
Or her voice.
Whatever it was, it made me fall into an abyss of mixed emotions. Emotions that can't be quantified by general law that segregates love and hate.
I find myself smiling, walking down the aisle of my effervescent hope.
I scream all my worries and fear out so that they have no way of finding their way back in.
I feel an anomalistic silence surrounding me when I hear her voice.
I feel the intimacy when I make her laugh.
I think of her but can't talk to her right now.
I miss her but can't admit it right now.
I need her but can't show it right now.
I love her but can't tell her right now.
This is where the pandemonium resides.
Is this truly love?
Or just a fiction moulded by the ageless sonnets of a time long gone.
It is so ironic, isn't it?
It takes sadness to know what happiness is.
It takes absence to value the presence.
It takes noise to appreciate the silence.
With her, I'd be inclined to think that the latter triumphs. I was contemplating nothing out of it but suddenly, right in front of me, I had everything I ever needed.
She is not perfect.
She has flaws.
She has cracks.
She has a dark side.
But despite these irregularities and imperfections, I refuse to give up on her. I chose her. And I'll continue to do so over and over and over. Without pause, without a doubt, in a heartbeat. I'll keep choosing you.
She wasn't made for love but the heart wants what it wants.
When I'm with her, I feel safe from the things that hurt me inside. I feel sheltered. I feel loved. I feel at peace.
She is the first and the last thing on my mind, each and everyday.
I want her.
I want us.
I want it all.
I find myself reading old conversations when I miss her.
I find myself starting at her pictures at her picture when she is away.
I wish, I could explain her eyes and the way the sound of her voice gives me butterflies.
I guess this is where the confusion dissolves.
I guess, it is a perfectly fair assumption to make that this truly is LOVE.
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© 2017 Shubham Narendra Jhunjhunwala