Love is different for everyone and to think that it speaks and works the same way for 7 billion people wouldn’t be fair. But here’s what love is for me, as I’ve come to realise.
I’ve come to understand that love isn’t all of a sudden. It is not like tripping over a wire and helplessly tumbling into a deep pit named love. It isn’t seeing someone and going gaga over them. It is not investing countless emotions and one sided attraction and it certainly is not something that happens overnight.
It is more like being slowly and softly walked down a path leading to a place called love. It is floating forward on small waves, and as you float, you feel a slight pinch here, a little electricity there. Then it hits you, a little later, or maybe even later like a crashing wave dousing you. That’s when you realize that this is love.
Love doesn’t have to come barging in through the door, shaking the entire house and making your heart beat ten times faster at an uncomfortable rate. It can tiptoe in softly and cuddle quietly next to you like a cat. And make you feel warmer and more peaceful. Yes, it will still make your heart beat faster, maybe flutter sometimes, but you will feel peace and contentment.
I have tried, very hard, to love and give
without expecting because
if you’re expecting in return
they say it isn’t the same bliss.
I’ve always read that you shouldn’t ruminate
on the good and great
you’ve done, you shouldn’t expect the same love back because
if, if you do so, your
love isn’t so pure.
If you expect anything back then what you’re doing is swapping, it’s business.
But how do you teach this to the soft curves and turns of your heart? How do you train it to not expect warmth from the ones you give all your warmth to? Who you’d do so much for. Do you teach it to value others more than they value you? Is it really fair to do that? Should you give and keep giving till you’re all spent? Isn’t love about caring and being cared for?
Humans survive by giving and receiving.
If you care for someone and go out of your way to make them feel better is it so wrong to want them to show concern on your bad days? Is it selfish to want them to do a little for you? To pamper you when you need it. To sit next to you and just rub your shoulders, to ask if you need some food and paracetamol when it looks like you do. To do what you’d do for them in a heartbeat. Is it too much to ask for? Is it being selfish?
I hope not.
It’s natural to feel upset or annoyed when someone remembers you only during times of need. You feel like you’re being used, like you’re being taken for granted. You feel like a spare wheel or like a useless benchwarmer in the football of your ‘friend’s’ life.
I say, instead, you should feel privileged.
You are the lighthouse shining in their crashing sea of distress. Their candle in the darkness. You are what they come to when they know nothing else will work but you will, always. You are the benchwarmer that turned the game around when no one else could. You are their backup.
Feel proud ❤
Sometimes the people closest to you are the ones pulling you down. They’re the ones restricting you, the ones hindering your growth. What you do and don’t do depends on what they do or don’t do. The unfortunate part is that you still like these people a lot. For some reason. And because you like them you don’t say anything. At all. What you do is bottle up all those feelings and hide them in the deepest parts of your being. You try to hide it so well that you deny their existence to even yourself. But these are slowllyyy eating you up from inside, making you hollow and blowing in little specks of detestation. And at some point in yor life all of this comes bubbling to the surface, trying to escape. But what do you do? You try stuffing them further down and concealing them. And then one day they just explode beyond control. Don’t let it come to that point. Speak up and express yourself. And don’t suppress things within you and expect others to magically understand.
Bye and have a nice day.
I usually don’t suddenly, out of the blue miss someone desperately. It needs to be triggered.
Everything will be normal until I suddenly see something. It may be something they passionately spoke about or a colour they love. It may be a favourite book, food they always craved, a habit, perhaps even a scent and it would completely wash me over. I’ll be engulfed in the flames of their memories.
I’m either drowning under the crashing waves or cracking like parched land.
You are special.
You’re not a cliche. You’re not the April rain or the full moon. You’re the flowers that sprang from a corpse, you’re the stirring inside all the poets that dream of intangiblity. You’re the plant that grew in the cracks of a cemented land. You’re the sunset Van Gogh can’t paint.
Oh cool, I had decided to post frequently on here but looks like I was unable to (like almost everything I decide on tbh). So here is a beautiful post about a place that once existed in a city called Al Ain…
In the searing heat of Al Ain, the pictures and thoughts of Paradise Garden are like running cool water over a fresh burn. All of these pictures were up my previous blog as well so, yes, they’re pretttyyy old. In fact, the place is no longer even there *sob*.
It used to be absolutely breath taking during the spring. Just step into the garden and you have a sea of flowers is lying before you with their earthy and fresh scent wafting through the breeze, engulfing you in it.
Don’t forget, we are in the middle of a desert, looking at all this beauty
A couple of these photographs are not taken by me.
Queen of all seasons, oh lady spring
Where do you go, spreading your wings?
With your magnificent, sprawling veil of flowers
You tip toe quietly, bringing showers.
In the mornings, fresh and fair,
Exuding fragrance in the air.
Tell me about you. Your dreams and your nightmares; your inspirations and your aspirations. Tell me what you constantly talk about in your head; everything right from the bottom of the deepest trench to the end of the universe.
Tell me about your first pet and how it feels when your mother sings your sweet songs in your native language and how the taste of her food floods you with nostalgia.
I can see the galaxies forming in your eyes and I can hear the thunderstorms crash in the beats of your heart. Tell me about those too.
Pour it all out and let it drown me.
The beauty of your soul is so dazzling, so brilliant, it could light up the darkest of the nights. It could illuminate lifeless caves and heal scarred hearts.
It burns bright but not blazingly enough to blind me, instead radiant enough to guide me; to be my lantern through all the dark nights and my flashlight through the foggy days; to be a beacon of hope when I’m feeling low and provide me with warmth and protection when I need it.
But don’t ever, even for an instant, doubt yourself because only then does your glow fade.