That one gaze makes all the difference. Whereever you are, the magical glance, as it broods over you, simply makes time stand still. You are floored; your heart pounds and you wonder is that love. Yes that’s love, the most sought after feeling to share with. You begin to dance, you are overjoyed and all these feelings orchestrates you’re dancing mood into sheer ecstasy of love.
Nights are spent gazing stars; words are scribbled over the paper and imagination stretches to reach out those gazing eyes. You are possessed. As you close your eyes, the bonds become much stronger and all that you are wishing emerges in those, silken and warm touch. You know it is not a truth; it’s only a dream, yet you wish to live into those hours. This is the state, when you are in love.
All this, I am writing is not, my figment of imagination. I had been through this and all that left behind, is those scary moment which always pricks me. I saw her, with somebody. The edifice of my love crumbled; the years have gone past, yet, she comes back in my thoughts, to dig and scratch me. I do not wish to belittle anybody that came thereafter in my life and I know my existence of posterity will be limited to photo albums. My life may not be scanned; unless, I pen down my memoirs. With the passage of time I may be forgotten for ever.
No one will ever even faintly try to look into my life; because, I am not celebrity and my love story will not fetch them, handsome price. Who bother about this? These incredible depressing words may not lessen my pain but, I don’t wish to be dictated by the tyranny of isolated silence. I wish to speak not as a looser but as the one, who loved once. I wish to be judged not the way I loved but the way I have been betrayed. I wish to be talked about with all fairness. Love is not the price; which, I asked for. All that has happened, has happened and I know, I will never get back her, yet I wish to wander around my memories. There are many, who do care passionately about love. I find that love somewhere crying over betrayals, somewhere it is hanging in hope, somewhere it is germinating in the poems and song, somewhere it is nurturing and blooming, somewhere it is questioning and somewhere it is as a dreaming. Whatever it is… love is that first glance and rest thereafter is history. And that we call – ‘A LOVE STORY’.
- Often when two are parting, each grasps a hand as friend; and then begins a weeping and a sighing without end. We did not sigh when parting; No tears between us fell; the weeping and the sighing came after our farewell. -Lyrical IntermezzoNo.55 By:Gustavo Adolfo Becquer