And I love you so, People ask me how, How I have lived till now, I tell them I don't know...
I admit now that I really know very little about myself.
I have always known that there is so much more to life than what I think I know. Or what I shall ever know or experience. I have been alive to that possibility. But it is an objective realisation, one that I have never really associated with my own immediate life. There I imagined that all my responses would be according to my recall: that I would always call the shots. That love and emotions thereabout were not meant for me, because I would never have the guts to lay my soul threadbare for fear of being rendered vulnerable.
So I looked at love from a distance, telling myself that it was a word that I would not give in to. That people did not really understand the connect, or else they would not say it so often, so insistently. That it happened when you were out searching and came to the nearest approximation of your ideas.
It was working out fine; and then it sneaked up from behind one fine day and left me breathless, and somehow, I really think it meant love. And so I began using it, tentatively at first, and with increasing confidence slowly, and I was surprised because I liked the way it moulded itself to my touch. My lips breathe it in such a way as they don't for any other word, and I like that. It is possible to be thrilled over cliches because they aren't intended to be so sometimes. As I speak the words, spell them through my actions, it becomes an idiom of our own. Mine and his. And we love each other with it.
It isn't always easy--fitting into each other's heart. But it's worth the wait to feel so intensely. To be so adored. Or so unfathomably desired.
Imagine if I had gone through life without ever having known this.
I have always known that there is so much more to life than what I think I know. Or what I shall ever know or experience. I have been alive to that possibility. But it is an objective realisation, one that I have never really associated with my own immediate life. There I imagined that all my responses would be according to my recall: that I would always call the shots. That love and emotions thereabout were not meant for me, because I would never have the guts to lay my soul threadbare for fear of being rendered vulnerable.
So I looked at love from a distance, telling myself that it was a word that I would not give in to. That people did not really understand the connect, or else they would not say it so often, so insistently. That it happened when you were out searching and came to the nearest approximation of your ideas.
It was working out fine; and then it sneaked up from behind one fine day and left me breathless, and somehow, I really think it meant love. And so I began using it, tentatively at first, and with increasing confidence slowly, and I was surprised because I liked the way it moulded itself to my touch. My lips breathe it in such a way as they don't for any other word, and I like that. It is possible to be thrilled over cliches because they aren't intended to be so sometimes. As I speak the words, spell them through my actions, it becomes an idiom of our own. Mine and his. And we love each other with it.
It isn't always easy--fitting into each other's heart. But it's worth the wait to feel so intensely. To be so adored. Or so unfathomably desired.
Imagine if I had gone through life without ever having known this.
posted by P at 11:57 AM
3 Comments:
touchwood!!!
Imagine !
Nothing relate but the title of the post, was wondering where it was from...the songs in my head, and then it is alas Don Mclean. Neat. :)
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