As a writer, it’s pretty hard for me to run out of words. I mean, I see unescapable beauty and weave even prettier sentences out of it. I look at the sky and quickly scribble in my mind how its colours resemble my own or how caressing leaves is like touching my lover’s lips.
I can break the world into words and people will still crave more such collisions.
But sometimes, sometimes I feel so strongly I realize I cannot write about it. I try and I try and I try but I fail. That feeling? The one which is cleverer than me? Much more diverse than my dictionary? I call it love.
I have written a lot of love poems but more than confessions, they have been experiments. Can I get close to this strange emotion? Can I touch it and not shy away? Why don’t I try? And so, I do. Every night, I try. Every morning I wake up and laugh at how I failed. But that is okay, I try again.
Often, I assure myself I have never actually felt it in the first place and that is why even my poetic genius cannot crack it.
But then I catch these little, almost fleeting habits of a boy I’ve only just met, talk to my best friend at 3am, pat my dog’s head when she puts it on my lap and falls asleep, look at the way the flowers and plants in my balcony open their arms to the sun in the morning (if they had wings, no one could have stopped them either) and sigh in a sweet sadness. Who am I even kidding?
I pick up my loveliest pen and trace a new, relevant metaphor then. Love? It is like black coffee without milk. Has the most passionate aroma, leaves you with a thrill but doesn’t let you sleep at night. You crave it again, as you shall but it becomes a tough decision with every cup.
It will be different tomorrow. Tomorrow, love won’t feel like black coffee to me but warm turmeric milk. The day after? Rose wine. Someday even a plain glass of comfortably cold water. But never the same.
Earlier, I used to think something was fundamentally wrong with me. Why would my love keep changing? Why could I not love 2 people the same way?
The answer is simple really- (my) love is a rainbow with the most intense shades. I could never see it as a whole, only as Violet sometimes, maybe a mixture of yellow and orange the other. Mostly, it was the brightest hue of red.
And every time, I told myself I was wrong. Can this feeling the world swears on just be lilac? Or just turquoise? Good old pink? So royally emerald? But what if it’s all of them and more? What if I was never wrong? What if YOU were never wrong, just limited in your approach to it?
We think we can take a box and hold love in it. I think love holds us instead.
Let it hold you today.
If you love in blue, love in every goddamn shade of blue.
If you love in violet, love in every hex code of violet.
And, if, like me, you love in the rainbow, love in each colour of it, at full brightness.
The only definition of your love is the one you have written.
