There was nothing about our story that wasn’t cliché. And it was okay, because it was magical and consuming like fire and calming and full of immense power like the sea, and everything in between. Our love was what poets dream about but can never put it into words, no matter how hard they tried. Our love was fireworks and cosy winter nights. Our love was happiness and tears, passion and hatred. It was selflessness and selfishness wrapped in a gift box. But that is exactly what, it was. It isn’t anymore. It consumed us, it broke one of us, it broke him. It terrified him, he went too far away to break free from it. How suffocated he must have felt that he thought he had to break all ties with me to breathe. How lost he must have felt that the only way he thought to find himself again was to lose me.
But that is exactly what, he thought. I know where he is today, breathing free, and living, happy, smiling, his days are full of life and laughter, his heart is carefree and focussed. I have been there once, many years ago, seems like a lifetime ago. And that is why I know, how wrong he is. Because I too once was carefree and focussed, free and arrogant of my ability to throw him away so easily, to break free from him like shackles of paper. But, it was not until I laid my eyes on him again that I knew I was holding my breath this entire time, that I was so free and fresh because I had a newfound emptiness inside me that he and only he could fill. I knew in that moment that my life would be incomplete without him, that life would mean nothing without him in it ever again. It was in that moment that I lost myself completely to him. And it was in that very moment that I knew I had found myself. I gave myself back to him in a heartbeat. I found love when I found him. But love is not freedom, it is not carefree and leisure. It is hardwork, and heartbreak, and it is tears and joy, it is compromise and struggle, anger and passion. Love is togetherness and broken promises. Love is everything there is, and there is nothing without love. Love is what brought us together and shed us apart. So when he left, I fought for him, begged him, cried and broke down, I burnt every essence of me because there is no me without him. He is a part of me, the only one that matters. And he slowly cut all the strings we had used to sew each other together, cutting my veins and I bled to death. So how come I am still bleeding? He walked over my lifeless body and I let him go this time. I had nothing to pull him close with, nothing to fuse us together with. So, when I wake up these days, I have to search for his thought, his name, just like I have to remind myself to breathe. Air is thicker now, and seconds last longer, nights are colder and days are empty. Anything that doesn’t have his essence in it is meaningless to me.
So let me start from the very start, how I laid eyes on him for the first time and I knew we were bound for life. In that moment, nothing and no one around me mattered. And since that day, I have looked for him in every man I see and I am left aghast by his absence in the sun that shines bright over head and the stars that sparkle each night and in the vast open sea that moves life around me. How is that they could shine, and sparkle and move life but not have him within them? How is that a man could breathe and smile, his eyes could twinkle and stare, that he too can love and break, but not have him within his soul. How is that I can live every day but not have him in me. Why do I feel that with each passing moment, I lose him more and more, he goes further and further away from me? He walked in front of me, I not being his object or subject of desire or attention, not even a quick glance towards me. But in the hindsight I can see how his gaze made me let go of the world and look at him, and just him. How with his eyes he made me give up the entire universe and succumb to his will. And those eyes would forever hold the meaning of life for me within them. Those eyes are what I would live and die for. Those eyes are what I am for. His words just put together what his eyes made me feel. And those words were carved in my blood, flowing through my veins giving life to me, and those words now choke me, suffocate me and simmer the intensity of everything around me.
I looked at him, and he walked away, folding his sleeve. I remember it like it was a dream, because what I felt it could not have been real, this world cannot weave it but neither can my mind fabricate it. So what was it? And if it wasn’t forever, so does that mean it wasn’t real? Or if it was real, does that mean it will be forever, and we will cross each other’s paths again and fall in love. I don’t know man, I believe I am not objective enough to answer that question. I was new to this world, had never felt anything like it, nor do I think I would ever come across anything even close to the essence of what I feel when I look at him. I am now just a shell of who I was, I filled myself with him, his soul, his eyes and his words, his smile and his laughter, and now that he has cut me open, I am bleeding him, drop by drop, breath by breath. Care to share what my last leaf would be?