Flowers, Letters, and Poetry…
It was 7:30 AM, a beautiful sunny morning, and I was returning from my jog when I found the flower. The same white flower flushed with Aureolin on the inside, that I had plucked out, on the day I professed my love for you. I do not want to sound wounded or clichéd but, I do still remember the day like it happened yesterday, and given the chance, I would relive the whole moment again, in a heartbeat. It was daunting, to bare my soul, to be vulnerable with you, having realized that you probably would not be able to do the same for me. But it also felt surreal and otherworldly, like all the love stories were written for us and all the beautiful flowers bloomed just for us. That feeling was enough for me to take the plunge. I was in love. I was madly in love with you, and I was just happy that I was even capable of such a strong emotion, let alone be emotionally ready to not receive anything back. And so when someone told us we’d look good together right after you confessed that you would not be able to provide me with the same love and commitment I was willing to, my heart exploded into a million pieces.
I always wondered why I fell in love with you, why I ever wrapped my heart in that beautiful unicorn shaded gift wrap and handed it to you. The feelings were so intense, they consumed me, and I never cared enough about the reason. It was only much later, when I was thinking about you on a certain evening, that I realized, it was actually the eyes. It was the turmoil in them. You held a lot of happiness and laughter within you, but your eyes always failed to hide the melancholy, tension, and agony. It was those earthy brown eyes. They made me want to shield you from all the wrong, all the bad and all the sad in the world. You were so precious to me, I was willing to take a bullet for you, protect you and keep you safe in my arms.
We are 23 now, busy doing our duties the society expects us to do, fulfilling our dreams and aspirations, taking on the challenges one day at a time with our heads held high. I am proud and how. I am proud of you for doing what you do, I am happy that you are content in life (for the most part at least if not always, and rightfully so, for nothing is invincible). We are 23 now, living our lives, and from exploring the world to being all broke, we have been there and done that. We are 23 now, falling for people we meet, or people around us, getting our hearts broken and trying to keep it all together, or spending time with the people we have feelings for and eventually ending it because it was never them. We are 23 now, and if only someone, anyone, knew what I’d kill to be 16 again, look into those eyes and lose myself, to get my whole world lit up at the sight of you, just existing. If only someone, anyone, knew what I’d kill to be 16 again, to experience love as pure and juvenile as this, and dream those innocent dreams of us living together in a far land where there was only happiness, and even if there was sorrow I’d make it go away for you, I’d pretty much do anything for you.
Everything is fine now. I am doing well. This was just one of the moments. Those fleeting moments where I want you to think of us, think about that one in a million rare possibility of us being together and everything that came along with it. I want you to look at me with those eyes and give me that smile and tell me that I am worthy of your love, that you are willing to take a leap and give us a chance, that you trust me enough to fall for me so that I can hold you right up. But then, that moment passes, and the realization dawns on me that we are not the same people any more, that we have grown up, we have changed for better or worse. And just like that, the nostalgia is replaced with a feeling of contentment, that I was once capable of love as unconditional as this, and I was once willing to give up everything for you, that I once plucked flowers, wrote love letters and poetry for you.
