The 30th November of the year 2008 was one of my worst days and I have had many of those this cursed year. The dream and hope I’d been nursing for 4 years went down the drain.
Lingering Scar, the embodiment of all the qualities intellectual, physical or otherwise I desire in a female finally put a stop to my day dreaming.
She doesn’t want me.
Actually she still wants me though not the way I want her; she doesn’t love me. And I worship the ground she walks on. How ironic.
How ironic can life get. Couldn’t I just love her with this monstrosity of a love and couldn’t that be enough? My love supersedes anything; any emotion I’ve ever had for a human being (over-exaggerated, I know, but it can pass) Let that be enough.
What I am trying to say is, for me to give up what I feel and have cultivated for almost half a decade is like asking me to give up breathing; you’re asking mine to die. Not so soon. Maybe I’ll love her for as long as I live, maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll love again, maybe I won’t. I don’t set about trying t find solutions to every problem and question in life. This is just my first love.
I honed my gift in writing and poetry not so I impress her or line her. She likes poetry and I like poetry. Let that be enough. On the other hand, I wish not my poetry be something she liked and something I wrote but something we shared, our thing.
Before the situation could sink in, I begged and coaxed and threatened and pleaded. I claimed my undying love to no avail. I swelled with rage and paced with anxiety, and deflated with defeat.  And she acted calm as the sea through it all: God! How I love her.
She doesn’t love me.
Maybe she does. Maybe she doesn’t maybe I’m wrong and she isn’t what I make her out to be. Who cares! I relish the ignorance. True love? Fallacy? Infatuation? Look at it your way. It won’t modify what I feel in any way. Maybe I know that it’s over.
I am torn to think that someone else is loving her. That someone else is ogling her with lust and I who stripped off her surface and peeped into her inside, I am here. Alone, this minute wondering why the hell we don’t always get what we want in life. She asked me this one time, She asked me this:
“Why don’t we always get what we want in life?” she wants me. I want her. The chemistry is right, the compatibility is perfect; the genetics are suspect but what the hell. If every word I wrote was to win her over, I’d write them all. Without her, I feel ruptured, incomplete; an umbilical cord has been torn from me. My thoughts are scattered in a million ways but yet all crowd together when I think about her.
I still get goose bumps like a plucked chicken when I remember her ways: the way she calls my name, the way she guffaws when she’s amused and slightly embarrassed by something I said; the way she writes in that ugly, cute handwriting. The way she double-writes my name. ..I am lost for words. She’s perfect to me. Perfect for me/
To imagine that I lose her at such a time when I need her the most is most cruel. I could wait for her I know, but what If I wait in vain? What if I put ideas in my mind that she’s The ONE and she isn’t. Wouldn’t I miss hooking up with my one true love? What if Scar is the ONE and I need only to try harder if we are to go places?
So many questions and very few answers in this part-tribute, part-reflection, part-memory. I pray karma is kinder on me.
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