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.