Love is not always enough.

I distinctly remember that day. A rush of adrenaline gave me the courage to do something I had never seen myself doing, ever. My ego most often ruled over me.

With a virgin mojito each. You and I sat looking through pictures, at our ‘adda'(place). I can’t remember what we spoke about because my mind was entirely occupied with what I was going to do next. I saw you catch a quick glimpse of your watch, you were probably getting late. And I still couldn’t bring myself to do it.

“let’s go”, you said and patted my head out of adore. You always did. I remember finding it so weird the first time you did, almost like you bro-zoned me. Now I miss it terribly.

We walked out, you looked back at our ‘adda’. The one last time kinda look. My heart sunk a little just watching you do that.

That ride home had me so anxious and you rode the slowest. It seemed to me, we both agreed we wanted time to take time and slow down. My head on your shoulder and no words shared. I didn’t feel like giving you that playful bite this time. How could I, with my heart in my mouth? Pounding away like no big deal.

You were leaving, for good. I had to get this off my chest. Rip the bandaid.

“Can you stop for a minute?”, I said. A few meters away from my flat. Shivering from head to toe, like the very first day, I ripped the bandaid.

I had fallen In love with you. That wasn’t going to change the fact that you were leaving. But I had to tell you this before you were gone. In person. I loved you inside out. Your awkwardness. Your insecurities. Your cigarette breath. Your insanely adorable smile. Your mushiness. Your crooked nose. The fact that it stabbed my eye everytime we kissed. I loved Every. Damn. Thing. About you.

I valued you too much to cowardly drop a text confessing my love after. Would I be able to forgive you if you accused me of doing it out of loneliness?

I asked you to not say anything, because nothing would change anyway. We were done. You had prepared me for this, for days now. But I silently hoped you wouldn’t listen to me. Hoped you would say something. Hoped this wasn’t happening. You listened to me.

That hug was our longest hug, wasn’t it? your shirt was soaked in my tears but I cried without a sound. Well aware that, it wasnt fair to put you through this, an hour before your flight. The hug tightened for a second before we both let go. I couldn’t look you in the eye. I walked away my back facing you hoping something would change. It didn’t.

Now we don’t talk. From spending every day and almost every night together to not even dropping a text, a week. How did this happen? You asked me to move on and I asked you to stop asking.

I even tried going on a few dates but, either bailed in the last minute or just stood them up. I shouldn’t be doing that to another person when I’m in no way, ready. Not ready for someone else to take your place.

I am so damn sure that the date would not be even half as fun as ours were. Remember our first and only movie? The mall was over crowded and we just couldn’t get into the elevator. In a couple of minutes, there were two idiots running at full speed up the stairs and around the corridors, you and I. We wanted to beat the elevator guys. Or our in-house ‘sound of music’ date. We had so many spontaneous jam sessions to those songs after that. Annoying all of our friends. What about ‘Zombie’? It became our thing to sing it out the loudest possible while on the bike, at night. We terrified a kid and his parents once, that still cracks me up. And don’t you ever forget our tickle fights. You are such a weakling when it comes to tickling your foot, contradicting the personality you’ve shown others, who haven’t seen you like I have. We clearly established trust issues when it came to tickling.

See, that’s the thing. I can’t see myself being this comfortable with anyone else. But you wanted this to end. You wanted it, right? And this is one of those few things, even a fighter of a person cannot hold up, alone. But I find happiness in knowing that at the least, one of us is getting what they want.

Now, A cigarette in hand to remind me of you, I breathe-in the smoke in acceptance. That I will never get over you.

2 thoughts on “Love is not always enough.

  1. I’m one round three of this… So much mystery to wander thoughts with. You are one hell of a connect-with-words kinda person. Inspired by this for sure.

    Like

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