imagining, a short love story

DSC00145i’ve come to a point in life where there are lots of once upon a time..

once upon a time i was very much minding my own business when a waif, forced itself into my consciousness

it was very much like Patricia Highsmith’s Carol, but, without its breathless, happy ending, but..there is a but, if it were to have a happy ending, it would mean a very unhappy ending for another

much like people worming for a discount, if you choose to consider, a discount is always at someone else’s expense..sometimes happiness too

we all know what falling in love is like, it fuels you, there is energy, previously unknown, there is renewed interest in looking one’s best, being your best and a ‘happiness’ that permeates, unreasonable happiness, and the feelings of ourselves, how noble, how genuine

suddenly i was all bright eyed, excited to be just alive in the moment, filled with anticipation of things to come, discoveries to be made, soft warm flesh or the thought of it, mostly just the thought of it

falling in love is silly, but it inspires, it inspires every part of one’s life

i wanted to work better, look better, be better, be unique, be whatever needs to be

the want to is not bothered if it is requited or unrequited

because, that heady feeling was, impossible to reign in

i rediscovered the things i used to do and gave up due to laziness or lack of effort, i was inspired by this well turned out waif, who was always groomed,… to make an effort again, there is a difference between catching a glimpse of oneself in a store window, a quick smile with stealthy pleasure or do a quick turn to shake off an image of an unkempt self

suddenly, i was grooming myself carefully for my own enjoyment.again, and the feelings of strength, hope, invincibility and pride

suddenly, i was inspired to learn new things, not just my usual burying my nose in books and gym, i wanted to learn everything that was new and social

and the things I want to do when in love, i wanted to be good, give good..not necessary waiting for a response..yes, i wanted a response, yes, but i was not going to beg for it or maybe i had no guts for a confrontation of sorts, afraid to hear from the horse’s mouth, an obvious no

in such a circumstance, either you are met at that height by your object, if not, you’d hover up there and then you crash..yes, from that great height

the early rendezvous, so much promises, the new discoveries, new delight in doing the mundane things, the effort made, looking forward to some sweet respite..slowly led to cancelled meetings, less outings, less plans.. just less

moments of actions levied at me that kept me marvelling, just how little i meant..these moments were re-enacted for hours, playing out in my mind in various permutations, trying to get a grip..am .. i.. really..that unimportant?

at times, exhilarated, at times so disgusted with myself..many times, i’d stare into the mirror and ask out loud, what are you doing?? what…ARE..you doing?? feeling truly like the original Creep in Radiohead’s…

and then, the endless tears, thoughts that do not stop, sleepless nights, intoxication and the dreams..followed by tired hollow eyes the morning after

the love did not just stop, it lingers, the lingering hope helped me to battle against life’s storms, and there were some storms! Β it lingered for years, then the flame grew small and weak

the love, even if it were one sided, was a dreamy distraction, a crutch that helped me hobble through what life threw me, i can’t put down its importance, its use to me, isn’t it weird? and all these, playing out to just myself…definitely weird

many times then, i used to wonder, will the ‘misser’ miss the missing when the missing stops, now i can answer that, yes, at times, i do miss the bitter sweet feeling of forlornness, some undiscovered hero

and at the end, my own end that is, Β i still felt very romantic in my own thoughts, i traced the steps the waif use to take, it was sorrowful, Β walk through crowds wrapped in my own lofty feelings, spent my time driving, deep in my own sad thoughts, listening to sad songs

the end was inevitable, it can always be felt, it just needed to be recognised

mostly i was so hooked on the sweet sorrow and the impossible

thoughts of how could i possibly be passed over? which part of me was so..unattractive?

and i know exactly the day when the magic stopped

but even today, sometimes my breath catches in my chest with a shocking force and i remember how possible it was for a heart to hurt, the pain was physical and real..and when i was in the depths, i used to think if it were possible to die of a broken heart, it felt possible but apparently i did not

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