Its been 4 years to that day to that 1st time we celebrated love together.The vivid memories of that day float in front of me. It does not feel like 4 years have passed since that day when you wished me like a mad man, shouting your love in the heart of the city. It was on that day I realized the extent of your craziness for me. You never gave me a gift; not even a hug or a kiss; you were a thousand miles away from me and yet the intensity of your love hit me like a thousand volts. I could feel the way you missed me, the way you craved for me. And it was then that I understood, this was the kind of love that never dies, the kind of love that can't be replaced, can't be rediscovered. Right then and there I knew, you were my soul mate; that was how strong the arrow of cupid had penetrated my heart, on that Valentine's Day.
Love can be so confusing at times. Sometimes it makes you fly, freely in the world of your dreams, then at others it makes you fall, head first, on the ground. It becomes difficult to understand the array of feelings piercing your heart. Every time you breathe, every time you blink, a new set of emotions awake, tremendous in intensity and fleeting in existence. Love comes slowly, creeping upon us suddenly like the morning fog, ever touching, ever teasing. But under the cloak of its deemed calmness, it raises in you a tempest of emotions, unsettling everything you ever knew, changing and turning the very core of your soul. Love is but the rain of Venus' wrath, soaking war-ridden men in its enchanted waters, condemning them to be forever its slave.
And thus, it enslaved us, binding us in its eternal ropes, a view of uncanny beauty blinding our hearts. And blind we were. Trapped in that illusion of utopia, we never saw when we fell so far apart, when the strings tying us slowly started snapping. The more the time we spent in that eternal dream, the farther we were stretched. And that, what started with a small rumble of thunder, broke into a full-fledged storm, breaking us apart, killing that love which was supposed to be immortal. And just like that, confined in a passing moment, it became a chapter in history, those words of yours, on that Valentine's Day.
May be we were not meant to be, may be our souls were not supposed to meet yet, but that spot where the arrow of cupid pierced me, still hurts. My heart still bleeds from Venus' blow, my eyes tearing up at the divine light of Aphrodite. Our love may have died, but its spirit still lives, residing in our hearts. Love in itself is such an paradox. The greater the happiness it brings, the greater is the sorrow it leaves in its wake. It brings such a fulfillment to the soul and yet, when it departs, the emptiness that follows is unfathomable. In this empty darkness, I sit alone, a lone tear my only companion, as I think of the love that was flourishing on that Valentine's Day.
