mariamalvi

This is that once in a lifetime kinda love… The one you read about when spiraling through a romance novel when you’re 13 which either leaves you in anticipation of that overwhelming wave or perceiving it as meaningless. This is that 17/19 year old love which is predicted to cling on to you till your last breath, that even when you tie the knot with another heart, their name still ties a knot in your belly, that regardless of the affection your current significant other has bestowed on you, their flaky memory will always present itself at the note of “first love’’. The person whose cry will make you decline all of your commitments to rehash that trip to the past which you’re unable to overlook. The reckless kinda love, where it’s bad, jeopardizing and risky but it brings that shrill through your spine, that jolt through your nerves making your every vein and cell feel. When ‘’loving you with every piece of me’’ has never made more sense. The rush of calamity and calm which safe love is unable to fathom. The rebellious kinda love, where you resist your parents, culture and faith and every barrier in existence is stagnant in your path but you endure and keep up because the goal is priceless and those hours of laughter and that glance of beaming eyes is worth deserting your identity. The barbarous kind of love, one you lose control over, the gentle swaying demeanor being nothing but a façade while the intensity of your sensation claws your organs out. But that roar of emotion, the mastery of that wild love is unlike every tame affection you’re yet to witness. The justified kinda love, where every sin is pardoned . . . from misleading your guardians to stripping off your modesty, where desires become deeds, where emotions become fleshly. The type of love which makes you gulp an extra bottle the night he/she confesses, the sort of feeling which makes you cross a rotten line at 3 am yet the moment is as ethereal and limitless as the pre-dawn sky. The paradoxical kinda love, where nothing is right yet everything is flawless, something as light as an unsinkable cloud yet with the weight of an anchor that even the sea is helpless.  The kind of love where every sappy love quote is a little relatable, every sacrifice is understandable and every compromise is doable. When there is no wall between who you are and what you seem like. The kind of love which plants flowers over your war ridden heart, the field filled with debris of skulls, dried out blood and sizzling coal, remnants of your destructive past. The kind of love where you crave a touch so bad and no, not sexually, just a squeeze of an arm, the stroke of a thumb or the caressing of finger tips and somehow it miraculously changes your day or eradicates your skepticism. When those features are what you hunt in masses of undesired acquaintances.

The kind of love which breaks you or makes you. You either hail together or you don’t. You either fall more every day or you never fall again. Both ways, that special someone whom you seized close and had the best kiss of your life with or who floated with you in oceans of theories or whom you dozed in on extra shot of heroin with . . . somehow squeeze themselves in the tales you narrate to your grandchildren. The kind of love that was meant to be even if it wasn’t meant to last. And if or when you retreat, you depart as two halves of the same mind, the same heart.

I have failed to envision myself as anything apart from buoyant, invariably joyous and cheery because firstly, I prefer to be an epitome of bliss and secondly, because I’ve progressed it for a span too long to be borne with its absence.

I was unaware of the sinking worlds behind the word ‘’alone’’ until the past year when I fell victim to loneliness, despising it and caressing it with affection at the same moment.

Being around people diverts my musings, the other person being the focal point, learning and observing and disregarding my trembling muscles. The laughter conserves me from the calamities that I erupt inside, safeguarding me from a feeling that outruns all that is to loathe.

I HATE sadness, I hate melancholy , I hate its worthless existence,  I hate how it engulfs my head and heart, I hate how it swallows my piled up joy and mostly I hate how it’s out of my control.

And so when I’m among respiring frames and myself isn’t all I got… I’m genuinely happy. My assassinating musings, my overbearing scrutiny, my apprehension, it all lapses to the back of my head, a dormant sanctuary.

But as much as I lust an ambiance pervaded by bodies, as much as I love exemption from my slaying confinement, how fond I am from my hovering chest, after a certain duration, my body craves solace, my heart sinks and my inner neglected-self begins opposing, rebelling against ignorance, screaming for attention and I surrender to it before the anguish grows, becoming so piercing that it carves gashes on my wrists. But either my pain masters me or I master it, allowing the blood from my veins to flow like ink on my paper.. and so I compose, I pour it out until my realm of words is free, until I’ve depleted, until I’m void, until I’m ready to commence another round, until the paper becomes a pavement of scribbled ichor.

After the blood runs dry, people regard it as a masterpiece, but I’m there, worn, alas free, like giving birth, joyous that it’s blooming and beautiful yet empty inside.

‘’I need people to fill me with merriment, I need time to tell me that it’s not me, I need solace to find myself and I need blood to be a writer’’

How quickly can the world fall at your feet?

When one day during your moments of success, you discern that you have attained everything a breathing soul could desire and you have no one to savor it with.

When you realize how that one person is the layer of caramel above all of your sweet victories and now they’re not there and your festivities don’t taste the same anymore.

When you loathe how that one person was the cacophony in your clips of overwhelming instances and now  your life is a film on the big screen with failing speakers, something so lifeless you don’t want to see, but something so huge that it’s impossible to ignore.

*This is really an excerpt from a story I’m writing, I will upload it as soon as I’m done with it*

-Sure, we’re in love…. weren’t all broken hearts?

Remember when you were young, weeping over a broken toy and your mother told you “you are all you need” ..  you should have believed her.

Remember when you were young, stressed over some issues with your friend and your mother told you “you are the only one who can hurt yourself’’ .. you should have believed her.

Remember when you were young, overjoyed when your favorite characters had a successful love story and your mother confiscated all your books and told you “There’s no such thing as love, it’s only deception’’.. you should have believed her.

Remember when you were young and you offered all your lunch to a beggar and your mother told you “ you have too good of a heart to survive in this world’’… you should have believed her.

Now look at yourself, the things she forbid you and you did anyways… did they ever bring you joy?

You unlocked your heart to temporary people and permanent strangers. How did that go? Not so well.

You allowed yourself to be vulnerable, sensitive to the people around you. How did that go? Not so well.

So for the future, open your eyes and close your heart for that is the safest way to live in this hell called earth and its devils called people.