A Thing Called Love.

Let me paint you a picture.

One that transcends all known divides. 

One that speaks of love, of all things beautiful.

I'd paint you the picture. I promise you. But love needs colors, rainbows, and far too many auroras of congruous harmony for me to do it any justice. 

I have drained all of mine in rendering the grey sky with my hues. 

And if I did, there'd be too many colors contrasting the darkness she left behind in your soul. 

Just too much light to blind your already flickering eyelids. But I promised you, to hold your heart dear.

I could say it again, and  a hundred times over. 

And a few times more- that you will be alright. 

And silently hope for myself, just as I do for you, that so will I.

But we both know. 

That when they leave, they take along with them a part of our worlds, that we little knew existed.

And we spend the rest of our days, unforgiving, recreating the lost worlds in others, with others.

Always, in vain.

I would tell you, the universe brims with enough goodness to set you free.  To set us free.

That it conspires to save the good people, our hurting souls. 

But love defies all logic, all science, philosophy. Everything that we know to be true.

You have seen more universes than the rest of the world have ever known to exist, in the subtle nuances of her very being.

Found too many worlds in the single person that meant the world to you.

The goodness of a million others shone bright in your one-in-a-million.

And blinded you to the rest of the world.

What science or logic could explain this love? One so profuse, so consuming. 

This is why my words are meek. 

Too fragile to hold on their own.

Why I fumble when I tell you you're going to be alright. 

Why when you fell back to the raw earth from your heavens,  you fell deeper than you imagined. 

Why at times, you were too numb to feel. 

Or comprehend the hoard of new feelings that now blanket you.

 Everyday. Every single night.

Why there isn't enough light in the world anymore.

You loved with a love you didn't know you were capable of.

You loved enough for the both you.

And when she left.. 

Well, when they leave.

We have enough left in us to indulge in darker sides of the night.

Enough for it all: 

Falling more in love with the ideas of our carved worlds. 

Ideas. More ideas.

Concepts. Scripting concepts of a redefined love. Scripting fantasies never to be true.

Growing too fond of the new found escape- solace- solitude

Of the dark firmaments, the studded stars velveting them. 

Of all things you have grown fond of as you drank away the hurtful nights.

Of vanishing silhouettes, piercing suns and fading sunsets.

Of all things that crashed your empire in the wake of the day. 

Of lost battles. Losing wars.

Lost causes. 

Once in a while, and to an unlucky few, very few times in a while a thing called love happens. 

The darkness of the earth consumes itself to light up enough new worlds in our souls. 

Love happens. 

And then, it is lost. 

Worlds are lost. 

And you have been blinded again.

A few more battles lost. The war too lost..

Lost ideas, concepts. 

Listen close, the universe still conspires.

Relentlessly.

You will hurt.  It will hurt. 

But in the bitterness, love happens. 

Again.