What is love? Why is it always after us? Why does it come for us when it plans to leave sooner or later? It’s stupid. It’s numbing. It drives us wild. It doesn’t have reason. It doesn’t have logic. It needs nothing to sustain within us yet needs everything around it. It’s desire. It’s a sweet sin. It makes us cry. It makes us smile. Laugh. Wonder. Shout. In joy. In anger. There’s pain. There’s warmth. It’s a parasite, and can’t live without our misery. Yet it wants our happiness and leaves behind only regret. It’s a drug, gets you high. A drink, intoxicating. It’s a spirit from an old wives tale. It embodies you because it can’t survive on its own and when it comes around, addiction sets in. Colours are seen. Emotions are felt. Days are brighter, nights are starrier. Everything is perfect. Flaw is overseen, perfection is guaranteed. The smell tastes good, the food smells good. It lives in friends, in family where blood ties and mutual bonding keeps us together through pain and suffering. So also through joy and happiness. It hurts the most in true love. The kind where sexual desire is driven beyond limits of decency. The first time it’s felt, it’s hard to get off it. And when it leaves, hate is felt for it, but only because you love it. Love love. Love is felt but not told. Why? Couldn’t it be simpler? But then it wouldn’t be more attractive. We wouldn’t feel the challenge. This sinful sexual charge. This craving for a simple touch. A kiss. Science may call it hormonal. Dreamers may call it a fantasy. Elders may call it infatuation to be worn off. Whatever it may be, it’s perfect. Though when it’s gone there is nothing good, nothing worthwhile, nothing seems perfect anymore. Red disappears, black sets in. A yearning that burns within the depth of the soul itself. A hand tugging at the heart, threatening to take it away. A promise is made not to pursue it anymore. But promises are meant to be broken. To hold on to it is hard. Love, perhaps. True love, impossible it may seem. It’s just the nature of it. Love is a tease. A prankster. It always leaves us wanting more. Never has it given a final satisfaction. There is always a bit of yearning. Something unfulfilled. But of course, life has never been appealing while it was boring. Love made it more irritating. More exciting. More like a movie. And to know that love comes with a refill pack is comforting. It will come for us again. It will fill our souls again. The warmth will envelope us soon enough. But only if you’re willing to let it. As it is said, forgive and forget. Regret never got anyone anywhere. Love will find us again and again. And if given the hospitality it deserves, we can love and live a life with love with someone we never hoped or even imagined. That’s the thing about love, it brings us together. It changes us. It makes us who we are.
