Fairytales enchant us, because they have an ending. Probably a happy one. Or maybe a tragedy, but they end. I wish it could be like that with us. Alas, this is life, and life goes on, no matter what.
And what was a fairytale once, shows all of its colours. You could never fathom the myriad emotions you experience for a single person.
Past the initiation, where everything is sparkling, you slowly descend into reality. You see the cracks beneath the shining surface, you see them as a real person for the first time.
You see that the people who once stood by you against your demons, are now plagued with their own. Maybe in that process, they hurt you once or twice, planting the seeds of venom inside your gut. Then starts the reverse of what brought you together in the first place, then starts the unloving.
The way you fell for each and every small bit of them, new small details about them make you fall out of it. And your heart, the loathsome being it is, takes all of their their qualities for granted now.
Here comes your evil mind, focussing on each of their flaws, watering the sapling of doubt into a giant banyan, Its roots eating away your insides, Its branches emerging out of your chest.
And then, finally, you ask yourself, "Are they really the one?"
This question haunts you day and night, And you torture yourself for you feel guilty, Guilty of the future, because it seems to go nowhere.
You regret the decision to involve another person in your mess. And you cannot stand to take the blame for breaking their hearts, Because being the victim is always easier than being guilty, right?
So you don't want to back out. Neither does your ego allow it. What's the option now?
Continue falling out of love, Until one of you decides to have mercy upon you and walks away, finally ending the nightmare that your fairytale has become.
I know I was wrong. I know I shouldn't have played you like that, and I know that you still love me as much as you did before I engraved the hate onto your heart.
There are times when people don't know what their heart actually wants. There are times when people confuse empathy with love, and there are times when all they really need is a distraction from their misery.
Those are the times when one makes the most condemnable mistakes, those are the times when people stumble upon the paths forbidden by their conscience.
For in those times, we become the most selfish. We neglect the consequences of our mistakes, drowning and numbing our pains through exploiting another poor soul. The one which is pure, the one which has yet remained unharmed by this contagious disease, the one which loves us with the purity of a child.
But I guess everyone has to grow up, and our souls are no exception. They grow day by day as they bear wounds and fill them up with new hope and love.
Love is the most contagious disease of all, for no soul in this universe can neglect the only one truth that there is: Love.
Love is the cause of all of our happiness, and it is the source of endless grief too. And love is what nurtures a soul, through affection and through pain.
Then there's that tiny little spark always left behind the storms, hope. Hope is what makes a person get up in the morning, hope is what urges them to move ahead even if they have to drag each and every step. Hope is the spark of life, and once gone, it kills the soul, if not the body, of a person.
Same was the case with me. That tiny spark inside me urged me to accept you, in the hope that maybe someday, I'll be able to move on, and in reality I thought that I'd moved on.
But love is a wicked, wicked thing, dear. It had planted itself in some corner of my heart where it kept growing secretly, without my notice. I couldn't erase the love blooming inside me for the person who had broken me. I made myself happy, even though...
I don't think I could ever complete this letter, but I do know one thing.
I'm not guilty, not anymore. The vile mistakes I made, I think I've paid enough for them, and I think maybe there is more to come in stock already.
Just know that this was not the end, the spark lives on in you and you'll eventually find another pure soul, maybe to harm it yourself this time.
Maybe then you'll realize that whatever we may want or whatever we may do, every soul has to be wounded in one way or another to grow, and in one way or another, it'll eventually heal itself.
I stop, I stare. At the bottom of my doorstep, There you are. Waiting, wailing, as has been Your life since you fell for me.
I didn't ask for it now, did I? I didn't pull you down into the Wormhole that my life is. But you, like a cliché moth, Came for the fire.
They say fire burns. It is a complicated phrase, dear. Fire "burns" you, true. But fire "burns". It has been burning, All heat and light exploding Out of its wild dancing flames. The wild, the chaos, the death! That is my true nature,
And to watch everyone And everything that tries to come near me, To offer me love, Being engulfed in my own flames is my only destiny.
I see you begging for Pieces of my affection, For some care, for some recognition. How can I? To just encourage you to come further? To see you being destroyed Like the many before you?
Trust me, it's better this way. At least you are alive enough To feel, to crave, to want.
Me, I've been dead since forever. The guilt, the regrets, the self loathe. Oh, you have no idea.
So let it be.
You keep cutting out a piece Of your heart for me every day, And I'll keep burning them, For that's what I am. Fire. And fire needs coal, after all.
Hey guys!! On this Valentine's day, let's write about the pain of being the object of love.
True, we mostly see one side of the coin, the lover's pain and desperation.
What about the pain of being loved? True, it's an extremely lucky thing to be loved with such passion, but what about the pressure to always live up to their expectations if you love them, and the guilt of breaking their heart if you don't?
Write a story, quotation, poem, or whatever comes to your mind and tag the post with #object
Let us play hide and seek, she said to me. You count to ten and then try and find me. I closed my eyes and started counting. And life started flashing before me.
One, I remembered the day I first saw you. That yellow tee, those green bangles, that perplexed expression and that heavenly smile.
Two, I walked up and talked to you. Me, the introvert, the shy, the "good" guy, I walked up to a girl with confidence and asked her out even when I did not know her.
Three, I never told you this but that night all my hostel mates gathered around me and asked me my secret. It felt good to be revered, even if for a night.
Four, Remember those moments when I surprised you with something you really wanted? It was not luck. I just listened to you very hard. To the things you said. And the ones you didn't. Especially those.
Five, I told you a week later that I was in love with you. You did not say anything but simply put your head down and smiled. I took that as a yes.
Six, Something was wrong, I was sure of it. You were acting strange. You were cutting conversations short and replying in mono words. You told me not to worry and I said I wouldn't. I still did it though.
Seven, I tried to talk, I tried to cajole. You did not hear either one of those.
Eight, distances separate the two of us. Distances not of miles but of silences. Where once the space around us was occupied with laughter, now it is devoid of anything at all.
Nine, You told me this was getting too difficult. That you should not have let me get so "attached" to you. I wish I could say the same but I can't my love. I know no way to live without loving you.
Ten, You had promised me once that you wouldn't ever leave. I am hoping that you did not forget that.
You asked me to find you when I open my eyes. It has been a long time and I am still looking. But my love, you are nowhere to be found.
Before reading this, please read my earlier post on this story. This is the guy's version. ------------------------------------------------------
l loved her. I still do. But she left me.
When I first met her, I read her. I connected with her soul. I could sense her bubbling personality. It invigorated me.
But lately she was not being herself.
"What are you hiding from me, tell me?" She frowns and asks me frequently.
I don't know what forced her to make such outrageous accusations on me. I have a squeaky clean image unlike some other guys. Being orphaned at a young age and having been brought up by three sisters in a dingy hovel, I became acquainted with their hardships. Despite their sufferings, they told me to value life and people. They used to say to always compare myself with the people who are less privileged than me and then I will know how lucky I am. And so I did. Their kindness manifested in me and I learnt to respect everyone and in turn it helped me to climb up the social ladder.
"Why don't you tell me what are you hiding, I beg you. You can't be that perfect. Something is fishy" she mumbles in her sleep.
Yes, I was good but I was never perfect. Also the definition of perfection is subjective. I did have flaws. But weirdly she loved those flaws of mine. She found them cute.
The situation worsened when she accused me of having an affair. I denied. Her suspecting behaviour left me worried and I started consulting some doctors for her furtively. I tried to alleviate her pain through love but it aggravated her situation more.
"Why are you being so nice to me?" she demands.
"Because I love you. I couldn't see you in pain". I say as I tuck her in bed after administering her the recommended dose of injection.
Maybe I loved her too much. And too much of everything is bad. Maybe I should have faked some of my traits to let my image contradict her definition of a perfect guy.
And then that day when she was being taken away to the psych ward, she screamed, "I am leaving you. I cannot live with you anymore. You are an actor. You are hiding something."
I didn't hide. I am just an empath. It makes me perceive people's feelings and understand them. I try to soothe them of their pain and help them out. I choose to be kind. But unfortunately, it costs me my wife.