I Hate Love

“Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses, you build up a whole suit of armor, so that nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life. You give them a piece of you. They didn't ask for it. They did something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life isn't your own anymore. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so simple a phrase like 'maybe we should be just friends' turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It's a soul-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. I hate love.”

It's a Neil Gaiman quote. And I feel he is perfectly correct to the last dot. A small dumb act and your life ain’t yours anymore. You know it is slipping out of your hand. Slowly, steadily; like sand tricking down an hourglass. You watch the reins you were so sure of; lying limply on the floor. The acts of stupidity do not end there. You keep waiting; remorselessly. So that the dumb person can come back and repeat the dumb act just once again. No he won’t. You probably know that more than anyone else. But you still wait. Patiently; hope flared by each ring of your phone, each new mail tag of your inbox.

Life changes, places, friends, offices. The yearning remains the same. You pine for the familiarity of your past. The warmth of the arms that once closed you off from the entire world. The soul and the body which cocooned you promising to be there forever. You close your eyes some nights and you can smell the faint cologne. You can feel the warm breath on your neck. Hear the voice which never professed love. But then both of you had heard the unsaid. It drives you insane; when you open your eyes and don't see the person whom you want the most in your life. And you shrug and carry on as if nothing has ever happened. Secretly you hope for a day when he would comeback. Hold you like before and tell you that he has come back never to go away.

Insane and cruel, that was what love was all about. And I hate it for breaking my heart and tearing it into pieces. ". .  I hate love.”

P.S: I had written this about a year ago when my heart was broken. Written when there were holes as big as the craters in moon. I do not claim that my heart right now is a cardiologist’s dream but I have managed to paste and staple it back into place. Fingers crossed. Now I don’t hate love, just a big wary as to where I put my heart these days.

I say a lot of nasty stuff but my poor heart cannot hate anybody. Even if that “anybody” has roasted my heart in stale cooking oil, my heart forgives. I kind of hate my heart for it. How ironic!

P.P.S: Purba, you told me I’ll make it, I made it.