Love is a funny thing. It is like a pirate, or better, a robber. It comes in unannounced and forcefully takes captive of your emotions and senses without as much a s a howdy ho. It welcomes and implants itself into your perfect and meticulous life and disturbs the peace of your core. Your life gets turned upside down, disorder becomes the order; your routine gets mis-arranged and the worst part of it is, you don’t know how or why or when it happened.
But somehow you embrace it. You confess to yourself that indeed you like it. It is somewhat of a necessary evil; you don’t want it most times but sundry times cannot do without it. It is a seesaw and roller-coaster of emotions and thoughts. It takes you all the way high and then drops you to your greatest depth.
You are like a heroin addict: in desperate need of a fix yet still desiring to get your act together.
You want it!
You need it!
It is the precious to your Sméagol and without it you are utter nothingness. You wake up one morning, and want it more than life itself; by the end of the day, you curse its very existence.
Why is it so complex? Why does it promise you sunshine and rainbows yet births darkness and gloom? And somehow, in the belly of the deep, you still long for it.
The rush of the feeling; the celebration; the candle lights and the sound of the crashing waves. Though it may kill you, you still want it…more and more everyday. So you pursue it; you buy the flowers and make the reservations. You shower and shave; roll, press and buff all to your best. It has to be perfect; everything has to be just right. You drive; you honk and open the door. You can’t wait for it to unravel; the anticipation is too much to contain. When it will finally happen; when you will finally attain your greatest desire…