Love does not require reciprocation, she reasoned. For after all, no other emotion does need to be reciprocated - anger, jealousy or hatred. Why then does love demand the ultimate sacrifice of having to be able to be loved back?
the questions in her bosom, though, did not listen to reason. they were deaf. they listened to none. they only were.
She pondered over the rights and wrongs of her love. The world would call it wrong. She would have called it wrong, if anyone was telling her the story, in which she was now entangled.
the quickening of the pulse at the memory, the tenderness & the affection she felt. All wrong. Immoral. Illicit.
Who would though explain the right and wrong to her heart, in which love had taken seed and grown into a beautiful flowering gulmohar?
It was there. indeed. love was. a glimmer, just a spark. but love was there.
When she did what she did, people did go ahead and call her wrong. They did discuss her over dinner, whispered to each other about how wrong she was at the local supermarket aisles. They went to the temple and spoke about it in hushed tones while the priest prayed the deity.
Men loathed her. Women had nothing to do with her. She was a disgrace to their gender. A few of them, though. secretly felt jealous of her, and their anger stemmed out of that jealousy.
She did what she wanted to though. And what was once something struggling to exist, now bloomed into life. The smile on her lips, now touched her eyes. The joy that was once kicked out of her ribcage, returned to where it belonged.
She walked out in the sunshine, and she no longer shaded her eyes to the sun. She looked at him, glare and all, and smiled.
Love. needs reciprocation. to exist, love and grow. and she had reciprocated that love.
the questions in her bosom, though, did not listen to reason. they were deaf. they listened to none. they only were.
She pondered over the rights and wrongs of her love. The world would call it wrong. She would have called it wrong, if anyone was telling her the story, in which she was now entangled.
the quickening of the pulse at the memory, the tenderness & the affection she felt. All wrong. Immoral. Illicit.
Who would though explain the right and wrong to her heart, in which love had taken seed and grown into a beautiful flowering gulmohar?
It was there. indeed. love was. a glimmer, just a spark. but love was there.
When she did what she did, people did go ahead and call her wrong. They did discuss her over dinner, whispered to each other about how wrong she was at the local supermarket aisles. They went to the temple and spoke about it in hushed tones while the priest prayed the deity.
Men loathed her. Women had nothing to do with her. She was a disgrace to their gender. A few of them, though. secretly felt jealous of her, and their anger stemmed out of that jealousy.
She did what she wanted to though. And what was once something struggling to exist, now bloomed into life. The smile on her lips, now touched her eyes. The joy that was once kicked out of her ribcage, returned to where it belonged.
She walked out in the sunshine, and she no longer shaded her eyes to the sun. She looked at him, glare and all, and smiled.
Love. needs reciprocation. to exist, love and grow. and she had reciprocated that love.
2 comments:
I like. I wonder about context though.
no context per se. just fiction. "coulda woulda shoulda"
Post a Comment