“I hope we are on the same page,” I said when we were a week old in this. Now, some three years old, and I really hope we were actually on the same page.
The page that I was on spoke of exploring each other. And the page that you were on was all about rushing into it, falling in love in jiffy. You wanted it fast…I missed it. I should have taken the first hint from it.
The page that you were on probably spoke of a mad love with no destiny. The love that hurts without reciprocation. The love that begins and ends between the thighs and not on our lips. The love that I could not justify and the love you could not stand up to.
I always believed in big love. The love that transcends the religious, cultural divide…the love that I dreamed of and the love you could not imagine. You thought love was compromise (from me unfortunately), for me love was accepting each other the way we are. The acceptance that I built with time, the acceptance that I built when I would be talking to you in the middle of the night to listen to some random compliments you had to share on the girls in your office team. Yes those compliments were not meant for me, but I would still listen to them patiently. The acceptance I could not offer anyone else but you.
That fierce love, those butterflies I felt when you would stand at my doorway in the middle of the night after a fight, when you pulled my head on your shoulder when I would doze off during travel have died. I agree that you loved me, at least you made me feel loved once, but gosh, why did we have to define love so differently from each other.
Time now when I would meet you once in months to find you sleeping while I am still engrossed in the gibberish conversation. When I would either find you checking out girls on a date that as it is would be once in months, when your FB wall would be more interesting than a conversation with me. Mind it, I was not seeing you every day, every night now. We were in different cities. Yes I wished I would feel the same anxiety that I felt when we were together almost throughout a day. When we were seeing us at the morning till you would drop me home at midnight, love does not fizzle out, at least for me. It strengthened with time while yours died gradually.
My love for you was a battle for a future together, your love was a pursuit of gratification and ease at the cost of nothing.
Not even the religious and cultural sentiments that would mean nothing once. We were walking on the parallel streets where we would just run against each other, in the process growing apart. We are apart now, just that having each other is a part of the habit now. Living together is a fight and not a custom you follow. Love is not a feeling but a need now. I am drifting apart. If you ever meant anything that you spoke, I hope you would love me the old way when I am gone. But I guess late comes too early.