The Ephemerality of Meanings

We have our loves and our fleeting intimacies which make us feel belonged. We have words and memories, all enmeshed in the starry-spangled gauze of fulfilling destinies. We love, despite the fallacies glaring at us like the yellow brick road. We love believing only ours to be true. We cherish and rejoice a fellow love and yet think ours is special. We talk and talk, till we think we have learned to write directly into their hearts with just a sigh. And then we sit back thinking nothing can go wrong. But they do, as we watch, every single time.

There are breakups, the commonplace ones where we drink and flirt and walk away from having them as Facebook friends. And then there is ‘the breakup’. It is so visceral in every form, that you bleed raw, but only existentially. Because how do you explain the pain of having an open wound where emotions never clot and drain you never-ending-ly ? The tears, which you would be so grateful for, don’t honor you or your pain. There are words, soft whispers of comfort. As there are warm hugs of empathy. But none of them can slice through the dense uncertainty. You end up reacting to everything, to just feel how it would be to emote once again. And then you go into the land of unfeeling solitude, where love cannot enter.

Maybe, you’ll even believe a talking parrot, if it tells you that he will come back for you. Because what is love, if not for a grand delusion humanity has endured through ages?