Meeting you was like starting a new poem – a rush of ideas flooded into my mind about what I wanted to do, how I wanted it all to pan out.
My mind was a battlefield of conflicting emotions and thoughts that lacked cohesiveness. A battlefield that lacked generals on both ends. A battlefield that would, inevitably, only conclude in mindless destruction.
We started like a flow of words – all at once.
We were uninhibited and free. We were bold and spontaneous. And then we weren’t. The poem that was our life ran out of words.
We started meandering, losing our course and, in the process, losing each other.
Soon, we began losing ourselves.
The page of our life was stained red. There was unexplained anger. There was uncontrollable rage. There was pointless jealousy. Ironically, though our life was a poem, neither of us could form the words to vocalise what we felt.
So we let it all get to us – the anger, the jealousy and all the pent up rage. What started off as passion meandered into the territory of resentment.
It blinded us. It changed us. The poem had reached its bittersweet conclusion. The ending was rushed.
There were shouting matches where neither of us had anything to say. There were deafening silences that said more than words ever could. There were glances exchanged between eyes that no longer gleamed of love. All that was left was an unsaid plea of wanting to escape. So we did.
The poem ended. When I read it over, it reflected pain more than it did love.
Halfway through, the stanzas showed a change in tone and theme. It reflected the desperation to leave more than the need to stay. All the signs were there. Why did we choose to learn only through pain?