“It always ends in this manner!”
“What manner? What are you talking about?” she asked confused.
“Oh! It’s nothing. My poetic mind was pained to notice something.”
“I understand. You were thinking, and something pricked your mind like a thorn; your emotions were so strong, that you spoke, just like you scream, a reflex I guess.”
“You puzzle me. I am the one who writes, but your words are more poetic.”
“Thanks for your appreciation, I am flattered. But now tell me about your mind. Let me peep in, I want to see what it thinks.”
“It won’t be that interesting.”
“Will you tell me or not?” she said with a straight face. You can’t say no to a girl. Poor me.
“Ok, if you insist to be bored. You know it happens with me, some DM’s on instagram of people who liked my work, usually girls. We chat for some time, and they insist on being in touch, we exchange our numbers.’
“Ok, I know you are famous. Fast forward please.”
“Haha. Ok so we chat for someday, they try to extract information about my past, they are just curious. They want to know what it is like, to be me. They ask me what made me choose pen and paper, and I usually try to avoid this question. But they stay in contact, it’s like they don’t want me to go even for a second. They keep talking for days, try to judge me. For them, I am a broken soul, a mystery, they want to solve. After some days they know me in bits and pieces, they get bored and leave. It’s like all they ever did was to just know about me, get into my mind. It happens every time.”
“Don’t be sad my friend, it isn’t just writers, people in general behave this way. It’s a human tendency.”
“Have you ever faced it?”
“Of course I have. Being beautiful means boys are attracted towards you, they speak nicely, behave decently and then confess their love. I have been in relationships, and I know exactly why things didn’t work out.”
“Hey don’t change the topic. I am talking about something else”
“No we are speaking about same thing. We are talking about what it is to be addicted to someone and losing them all at once.”
“I am convinced that you will be fabulous writer. Complete your story.”
“I know. Thank You.” She winked and continued “so it is like these guys were always attracted by my physical features. My body is all that they craved for, poor guys. They didn’t understand that their brain is not noticing my mind, it just wants my body. So they always noticed my good qualities, ignored the ones that they didn’t like. It’s their lust that made them think that they were in love. It was after we get into relationship, after their brain was satisfied that they started noticing what they didn’t like about me. It led to fights, and eventually broke that little thing in my chest.”
“It wasn’t love from your side either. It was based on dependencies. If it was love, it would have not broken your heart.”
“But they say love has broken more hearts than it has joined.”
“Because they are idiots. It’s not love when it slaves you, restricts you, your freedom. It’s an immature act, an infatuation. Love is liberating, it helps you grow. It is based on trust.”
“Please elaborate. Say something that I can understand. Don’t draw asymptotes’.”
“Let me frame it this way, when it is love, it teaches you to be independent. It’s like having someone who trusts you so much that you grow, you develop. Our partner teaches us to trust ourselves to live, even after they are no longer available. That’s love, liberating you, giving you the freedom to grow, and teaching to live independently, without anyone. Love is never based on need. In fact love teaches you that you don’t need anyone to survive. And the ones based on needs and wants are the ones that lead to heartbreak and scars. You know being dependent on your partner to survive is not love, although it is really nice to think that someone wants us to exist so terribly, but it isn’t love. You can survive without them, but it feels better to be with them.”
“And what about the things I felt? You have seen me. I was a broke after my break up, and somehow it was when I broke, I grew. I felt that. It was like pain is a better teacher.”
“True, pain is a better teacher. The things you felt were what one feels in rehab, you were addicted to him, and then he wasn’t there anymore. So you suffered for some time. Look at you now, you are all right, having fun, enjoying life.”
“I agree, all you said about love was right, but all you said about my addiction wasn’t. It was something else, for even today, I feel his absence. It’s a void, a hole in my heart, where he used to reside. It’s empty now. It was more than an addiction. May be not love, but surely it was not just an addiction. We had feelings for each other. I still have feelings for him. Although I have managed to fool myself that I don’t need him but every time I have something to share, I want him to be there. But he isn’t there anymore. You don’t feel so much for the one whom you didn’t love.” She said with anger and remorse filled in her voice.
Maybe my theory wasn’t bullet proof after all. For I have never loved, never been into this trap, I am better this way, trying to liberate myself without anyone’s help. But I guess it’s a better theory than the ones existing today. The ones these melodramatic movies are teaching us, where it’s difficult to survive without our love, one where lovers die together, where love is more about pain. Love isn’t about pain. Or maybe I am wrong, love is different for everyone. For me love is freedom, for me its life.
The Puzzle Maker