How many loves do you get in a lifetime? How many before the heart is worn and the skin detached? Do you sit and wonder if that one person was your last love, or were they a stranger who just knows too much?
Love, something so strong that half of us have a hard time facing its reality, the ugly numbness in your limbs, the queasiness, and, most importantly, the one that terrifies all of you, the uncertainty. It makes the strongest people crack, the weakest come out and live, the forgetful remember. A breath of fresh air for some, and a dagger at their neck for others.
But contrary to popular belief, it’s easy, to love and to let love, I mean.
It's funny how we talk about love and not timing and fate. How the Taj Mahal is a symbol of eternal love, but Mumtaz, for whom it was solely made, never got to witness it.
How Eurydice was loved enough for Orpheus to step into the underworld but never walk out of it with her, because timing is a wicked thing and fate’s best friend.
One step at a time and it might just be right, or it might not be, who has ever known how this love thing works, right?
“I love you.”
“You don’t love me in a way I understand.”
As with most things, love is no exception to the concept of relativity.
You might let the distance consume you raw, and you might provide a home to the voices, but that doesn’t mean it keeps them up at night or forces them to get out of bed each day.
You can “love” someone, and they might not remember your face when you pass them by in the shampoo aisle.
You can “love” someone and let it go, because you can love someone.