Is it mindlessly romanticising the butterflies of your imagination?
Or is it the short-lived honey-dipped so-called ‘never-ending’ conversations?
Is it to quietly blur the boundaries between consent and acceptance?
Or is it to blindly allow the violation of your body that slowly shatters your existence?
Is it longing for an intimacy which may go astray if the going gets tough?
Or is it normalising infidelity despite having that privilege of being loved?
Is it that unadulterated desire to be with the person you have set your heart on?
Or is it this shallow feeling wrapped in an inherent fear of loneliness you might have to live with?
What is love, really?
Its shades of warm red slowly turn darker with each passage of time,
Eventually leaving stale memories of unfulfilled promises and desires behind
Its darkness blinds your sensibilities as life passes you by
It stabs you in your chest with the cold rage of reality and eventually bleeds your heart dry
This may look like an assault on ‘love’ by a star-crossed jilted lover,
But, you tell me, my friend, with passing time, as its novelty wears off, doesn’t a piece of love also disappear?
Love eventually turns into a cold, black, overwhelming, and exhausting feeling
but, my friend, no matter how hard I try to dismiss it, love still remains an experience worth living.
Shraddha G is an independent journalist and writer based in Mumbai.
Featured image: Annie Spratt / Unsplash