“If some lives form a perfect circle, others take shape in ways we cannot predict or always understand. Loss has been a part of my journey. But it has also shown me what is precious. So has a love for which I can only be grateful.”
Have you ever received a message in a bottle? Gone looking for it? Found one ever? Me neither. Have you seen the movie with the eponymous title? I have. If you like mush and weepy love stories, then this one based on Nicholas Sparks’ eponymous book is definitely worth a dekko.
I’d seen it many years ago, maybe a decade ago and I remember wanting the soundtrack of the movie. I’d asked a friend to get it for me, which he did from the US. I still have the CD and the soundtrack is beautiful. Check out a sample here.
So I don’t know, am just sitting here crying. I don’t really know what to write.
What do you write about love that hasn’t already been written? What do you write when you know you won’t ever experience that kind of love? A love in which you can feel so alive where every cell of yours is screaming for life? What do you write about when you see two people in love yet torn asunder for reasons unfathomable? What do you write about when you see people in love and not tell each other that they are in love and waste a lifetime of what could be? What do you write about when you know that all the love you’ve ever experienced has always left you broken-hearted but wiser (who wants to be wiser though right?) ? What do you write about when all the love you’ve ever known has always left you feeling you’re not good enough? What do you write about when you lead life questioning if a love that can take your breath away really exists or is it a figment of fertile imaginations? What do you write of love when you’ve never known a love like that? What do you write about a love which abuses you, makes you feel small, threatens you, takes your heart and tears it to to a little piece a million times over, day by day, every single day? What do you write of love when you make plans of a dream wedding only to be told long distance that there’s another woman leaving you holding the sound of silence? What do you write of love when all experiences of love leave you feeling like you’re only meant to be used and thrown like a wet sanitary pad? What do you write of love that shrinks and shrivels your mother and you watch her broken heart and you know you can only perhaps help her pick up the pieces, while yours lie scattered about with not enough strength to pick it up and try and piece it back together? What do you write of love really when you wonder if the aching and the longing and the fulfilling of love is a myth and if it’s a reality why haven’t you ever experienced that kind of aching? What do you write of love when you know that you can never bridge the yearning across a room with a single look? What do you write of love which could make you want to plunge into the deepest oceans of desire? What do you write of love when you know that being in love can leave you feeling so together yet so achingly alone? What do you write of love when you come to believe that all that love could mean is a one-night stand every night? What do you write of love when you see the little light under Love’s door and run to open it, excitedly, wanting to desperately invite it in, only to realise that that was the fading light from a the door of Love shutting you out? Love. That big-big 4-letter word that makes the world go round. That one single word that makes sinners of believers. Love. It fills you up, it lights up your darkest times, it satiates you and also creates a hunger in you, the likes of which you’ve never known. Love. It makes you kill and it makes you a saviour. Love. It elevates you and it burns you. It makes you need with a ferocity that fills you with awe. It makes you whole like nothing else. It hurts. It heals. Love. It’s the fuel of your imagination. Love. It’s music and cacophony. It’s the salt of life, it’s the need for life, it’s a reason for life. It’s the breath of life.
I used to imagine that I would find a great love some day. That I was destined to be found. I found love, like little shreds of paper buffeted in the wind, snatching at what I could lay my hands on, only for the scraps of love writhing to be free. Yes, I found some love without. Only to understand and know that if I didn’t find love within I would never be loved. I learn to love myself, a little everyday. But I’d still like to be found.
So what do you write of love that hasn’t already been written?