Requiem for my heart
It so happened that I loved someone. The lady was a chirpy beauty who had the misfortune of choosing me. She genuinely cared. I did too. Only, my timing was irremediably flawed. I started truly loving her only after we parted ways. Only now do I understand that it was on the wrong side of breaking point to realise one’s true feelings.
In the initial months, we were happily inebriated in each other. So much so that I found shopping expeditions with her endurable and she dismissed my ego issue as some form of curable pathology. Successful relationships are mostly about tolerance. Occasionally I listened to her. I felt the more we talked the less words meant. At least I thought so.
Then things changed. She wanted us to get married. I was happy merely being with her. The nuptial ceremony was mapped out by her during one of our one-way conversations. I was afraid. But love being what it is, I duly informed her of my disapproval by acquiescing with her. Our parents hated their progenies’ choices. I thought that maybe it was simply not meant to be.
With time, I grew meaner; cruelty to others the quick solution when overtaken by one’s own confusion. It was Je t’aime, Moi Non Plus from thereon. To the point where it hurt us to be together. We broke up.
Then there was love. I remembered the moments we shared, from the finer details of our unilateral and two-way conversations to our fights. Memories of her face made the fabric of my melancholic insomnia. The last few months have been a cathartic yet soulful experience.
For, I found love.
