Everything I Know About Love: Nothing
In my head she kept asking me that do I love her? But I didn't know how to answer that for I have not known what love is. As far as I know it has something to do with surrendering and to taking care of something regardless of its physical form. At least that's what I was taught from the beginning.
The irony is, you can learn what love does, how its work and even the source of love in a single lifetime, but still love succeeds in remaining nameless. It gives every proof that it exists, but it doesn't have a name or a face. The thing we associate with the word "love" is a ghost.
The word "love" has not always portrayed that popular sensation of "butterflies in stomach". With 8 billion people out there, love is 8 billion different feelings. And in the end, 8 billion different lies.
[so don't you take it too bad...]
I saw someone, and the moment I saw her I knew I would give anything to that person. Even my eyes, my life. Is that love?
I was so ready to take care of her, even she had a burned skin or had no legs or arms or eyes. Is that love?
I saw how much I care for her with my own eyes and decided to offer that thing to her. Which was something bigger than me and I knew she deserved that. Is that love?
I concerned about her happiness over mine that I swallowed all the love I had to keep her away from the flames. Is that love?
I begged the god to never show her a glimpse of my love because I did't want her to get hurt, even that means I never get to experience her love. Is that love?
Here's a thing about love: despite all the pleasures; the hardships, the pain of the marks it leaves: you have to take them alone. the other can do nothing but sit in the dark with you as you endure this pain. Some might become aware at that moment that they are mortal and helpless like the rest and sometimes it makes them weep. That's the last thing anyone could do.
And maybe by then, you'll realize your love for someone else has nothing to do with them but you, yourself alone. Nor does their love for you have anything to do with you. As Abraham Hicks wrote, “People will love you. People will hate you. And none of it will have anything to do with you. ” All this time its our choice (turns sacrifices) to devote one's life to another mortal defenceless being. Now that makes love a religion.
Here's a harsh truth: It is possible to hate someone once we loved, but there is no way not to love them anymore. If one doesn't love them now, they never loved them before. Maybe in deep down they know that, and that's why they hate the other one in the first place. If someone truly ever loved you, they'll love you even if they walk across the street to avoid you. And you will never know for sure, as they do not know it for themselves. Love plays this little confusion game with human hearts for love is still a stranger to them.
And we all confess our love the way we confess our sins. First we start with the little things like how terrible we feel and then we get into details like how we planned, where we hid it and what we did to cover things up. In confessing, we expect nothing else but forgiveness and perhaps their love in return, the liberation from our own soul. And that's as liberating as confessing to an actual crime. It reminds me of the part that Miranda July wrote in her book 'the first bad man', “Finally,in a low whisper , he said “I think I might be a terrible person .” For a split second I believed him - I thought he was about to confess a crime, maybe a murder. Then I realized that we all think we might be terrible people. But we only reveal this before asking someone to love us. It is a kind of undressing .” Love is this much strange and confusing, but we all got one life to do it all. Must admit, somehow that makes it less terrifying. After all, how can you be ready for life; if you're not ready for love?
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