Because it is peculiar

Love is so peculiar. It is the strangest thing one could ever have, knowingly or unknowingly. Its relativity transgresses every theory and law science has ever given. Love is defined as an involuntary act or feeling of care and appreciation towards others. Yet, people say love can be learned, would it not be voluntary, an act chosen by a person. Love makes a man merry and drives him mad, at the same time.

Love to me is giving away what I have, including pride if it means happiness of the person in the other side. But love for her is never letting go, because holding on is the only thing that she can do. Love to him is fighting every chance even if it means losing her at the end; insisting that it should be him because he loves her more than enough. While others say love is seeing you happy even if it means being apart from me. Love is giving everything without consideration. Love is choosing to trust even if it was broken a hundredfold. Love to me is not love to him. How could love be love the same for me but so strangely different for you?

Love is so absurd. It is silly in all times. Love makes you fight but when she cries, it makes you admit repentance. Love gives courage so much, it could win a war. Yet the same love makes a commander of glory and pride toss the white flag. And remember that it was love that made Caesar lower his scepter.  One would take a beating from anyone just to protect the smile of the person dearest to him. If the bargain is her happiness would you not care shredding your own life?

Love makes people happy and blissful and also sad and mad. Love creates emotions innate and personal to one another. It does not recapitulate. It is not the same to everyone but its utterance is clear to mankind; one will know if the heart has loved; it is a language spoken transcending universe, as if the Babylonian’s Tower was never created.

Love would make you give everything you have –your heart, mind and soul; your time, your life. Not because love said so but because you would gladly do so. It would take away every piece of you, from the early good morning to late night smiley.  Love would one way frustrate, discourage and in times it would enraged you. And when it walks away all that is left is nothing more than a machine, who wakes up because the eyes open, eats because the stomach needs something to digest, speaks because someone ask. When love leaves, you exist but do not live.

Love took with her the fragments of your very being those pieces that once made you whole. You are left, void of your existence and had lost purpose. Each day you ask have you been enough, enough to make love stay. And every day you are slap with reality that the love that once made you bliss is causing you tears. The world has known of your being but no compliment would suffice the longing of a heart. You have crumbled and found yourself picking up the pieces of what is left of you.

But love is unexpected. It came whooshing, like a ball passed three seconds before game over. But love was unknown to you. It was not a shade of grey nor light blue.  You did not even recognized love when a five year old boy stumbled throwing his ice cream to you and girl came running behind him saying, “I’m sorry my nephew did not mean it.” Of course, how would you know when the core of your being was shut down? When the very piece that holds true to reality was taken and you have turned to a mess. Of course you would not recognized love, not yet, because after all,

love is love and it is so peculiar.

 

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