Sad eyes and serious face. That’s how he remembered her. That and her question would still play in his mind every now and then. “What if I never fall in love again?”
“You will.” He promised. “You won’t be able to help yourself when the person and the time, both are right.”
The bottle stopped spinning. He looked at her and he could’ve asked her about something deep. Like when was the last time she cried or does she know what it’s like to be in love but he didn’t. Instead he smirked at her and asked, “When was the last time you were terrified of something?”
“Last week when I was balancing my laptop on the palm of my right hand and I almost dropped it. It would have shattered to pieces had my brother not caught it. I remember thinking that people are like laptops. Once you break them, they’ll never be the same again.”
Excerpt #3 – “Who are you?”
“Me? I’m all the people I’ve encountered till date and all the experiences I’ve gathered. Inside me, I hold the laughter of my friends, the arguments with my family, the kindness of strangers, the sadness of seeing love lost, the numbing cold of winter and the warming summer rays. Within me, I also have the changing seasons, the shining stars, a lovers spat, the making up after, piercing bitter words and infinite longing glances, the music that gets me through the rough days and all those emotions I cannot convey. I am made of all this and more.”
“You’re too much”, he said. “You talk too much, love too much, feel too much. And I don’t know what to do with your muchness”.
“Just love me”, she whispered. “I’ll always be too much. I know I talk too much but most of the times I’m talking about you. I know I love too much but that’s the only way I know how to love. I also know I feel too much but I wouldn’t have it any other way. Because in my muchness is my soul and when I love, I love with all my soul. So love me with everything you have. Love me and my muchness even if it’s too much for you.”
He said, “My dear, find what you love and let it kill you.” Little did he know, I already did.
Some days I’m happy. Some days I’m sad. And then I’m happy again. And in between being happy and sad, I’m ordinary and unpredictable, fierce and kind, unkempt and clumsy, unsure and determined, extremely chatty and unusually quiet, insecure and confident, totally weird and bat shit crazy and so many other things I can’t remember the words for. I don’t think I can define myself.
Watching him leave is so hard. I think to myself that I can’t. I can’t let him go. I’m not strong enough to watch him walk away from me and be okay with it. Even knowing that he’s coming back tomorrow or some other day doesn’t stop my heart from breaking. I can feel the pain as if someone’s taken a blow to my chest and left me there to pick up the broken pieces. But the only thing I keep repeating in my head is, “It’ll be okay. It’s still okay. It’s okay that I love fiercely, that I expect fierce love. I need this type of love. I am not wrong. I deserve this love, a love that matches mine, that ignites fires, that lights fireworks, that grows and builds and sings like the radio with the dial turned loud. And it’s okay if he doesn’t love me back that way. I’ll live on and maybe someday I’ll find someone who loves as fiercely as I do.”
She had that twinkle in her eye he loved so much. And she could surprise him at the most unexpected times. Like that one time when she wore his oversized sweater and flopped down on their bed exclaiming, “I love wearing your sweaters! They’re cuddly and comfy and smell like you. And because sweaters in general are way too expensive!”
Excerpt #9 – “What are you most afraid of?”
“Hmmm, of failure perhaps.” I replied with a straight face. Lying came easy this time because how could I tell him that what I am most afraid of is not spiders or heights or even drowning in the sea. What scares me the most is the possibility that someone who once fell in love with me could just as easily fall out of love. That my quirks could become character flaws, what was once adorable chatter is now bothersome noise, the spontaneity he once loved would then be considered as reckless and irresponsible behavior. It terrifies me that I could become ugly to someone who once thought the stars shone in my eyes. It’s the scariest thing to me.
“She is art. Everything she is and everything she does, it’s so beautiful. You won’t always understand her but isn’t that exactly what embodies great pieces of art. She is chaotic and messy and confusion personified. There are days when she makes me question my sanity but by the end of the day I feel kinda lost if I don’t hear her throaty laugh. The way she dresses is art in itself. I never know when she’ll go from casual girl-next-door to sexy siren and all the while I am left feeling proud because I get to call her mine. Even the way she drinks her coffee, sip by delicious sip, relishing every moment makes me think of an artist thinking about what he’s going to paint next. Everything about her is art. The way she makes me feel is art.”