What happens to love?
What happens to love when it’s over?
When he decieves you,
Fails to see all that's true,
He packs his shoes, he packs his clothes,
Forgets the memories, forgets the oaths.
He waves adieu.
Love leaves too.
What happens to love when it’s over?
Love is warm like a crackling fire
Burning, fuelled by care and desire.
But, like all things on earth
It will dwindle away from its birth.
Love doesn’t stay.
Instead, love fades away.
What happens to love when it’s over?
True love is extremely rare.
Love that leaves was never there.
Love lodges itself within,
Constant, never growing thin.
He may go, leave you bereft.
But know, love that returns never left.
What happens to love when it’s over?
New year’s resolution #1
Last year a girl walked up to me and told me her and her two friends, standing shyly from a distance, wanted to tell me how pretty they think I am. Without even thinking, I asked her if it was some kind of a prank or dare. Her brow slightly furrowed. She had meant it.
I'm thinking about that now in these early days of the new year. I'm thinking about how undeserving and unworthy of a compliment, I had belittled myself to. Someone thinking that I'm pretty or beautiful or exquisite was inconceivable.
The way we belittle and degrade ourselves like that, is abusive. The way we dehumanize ourselves because of the blemishes on our skin, the disproportionality of our features, the scars of our pasts, is unkind.
This year, I'm nursing those wounds of unkindness, contempt and shame upon this body. I'm washing away the self-doubt. I'll scrub the self-hate with everything that I've got. Looks like, self-love is in season and I must say, it looks great on everybody. And if a compliment comes my? I'm going to wear it and own it.
Infinite possibilities.
Seated in the same cafe, at the same table, in the same position, he reads his book. I sit at a table in the corner, cornered by fear of walking over to him and saying "Hi". He could respond "Hello", "Ola", "Bonjour"or "Namaste". So many possibilities. He could be a writer, painter, dancer or singer. So many different possibilities. He could fall in love with me, name stars after me and explore galaxies with me. All the infinite possibilities stemming from a single and monosyllabic word - "Hi." Yet, all I decide to do is drink my coffee in the same cafe, in the same seat, in the same corner.