His Love...

                                                                                  

              She knows pain, she has burned in it. She has seen suffering, that unquenchable thirst throbbing and aching in her throat. She knows want, desires lapping up and engulfing her in their depth. She is no naive child; she’s a woman who has seen misery, felt its claws ripping off her skin. And yet, her innocent heart learns not, again and again she jumps off that cliff, down into that pit of fire. She lets those flames lick her up, as they chastise her soul, drowning it in that ever flowing river of sorrow.

           Love can be beautiful and love can be intimidating, but for her love was a breeze of fresh air. Love raised her from the darkness she had fallen into, embracing her and showing her a light that lead her life. Love taught her how to smile, her ringing laughter that echoed through the house. Love changed her, purified her. It led her into a serenity of bliss, where her injured soul found solace, among its beautiful stars and musical bells. And then love bled her, a deep red pouring from her heart. It showed her facets she had never seen; dreams more frightening than nightmares, realities sweeter than fairytales and hopes that would pierce right through her existence.

She loves him; that is the only reality of life she knows. She adores him, she admires him. She is in awe of him and she is terrified of him. But he is the one in her heart. For her the world in which he and she can be together is the only world that can exist. They say when good things fall apart, better things come together. But he is the damn best thing that ever happened to her, what could be better than the best?

His love is a pain sweeter than the nectar of Gods. It wounds deeper than the seven hells. Yet, his love is the music from Krishna’s flute that soothes the soul. His love is a rainfall of tears; tears that cleanse away all her grief. His love is the axe that breaks her heart into a thousand pieces. And each drop of blood oozing out brightens her spirits in its color of red. His love is a bite of cobra, each strike of its venom strengthening her core. His love is that field of mud, where the lotus of her life blossoms. His love is not divine, his love is brutal; but it is the only religion she follows. If he were a demon in the bright sunlight, she would be a worshiper of the night. His love is a nightmare lovelier than fairy tales, a reality sweeter than dreams. His love is not a game of Cupid; his love is a blow from the mean Necessitas.

But no matter how harsh the lights glow, no matter how hot the flames grow, she would still strive for his love. Even if his love pushes her far, she will still sacrifice herself on her love’s altar. No, love isn't a horrible dark dream; it is but the silver lining in the dark clouds of life. Love doesn't bring obstacles, it smoothen this bumpy ride of survival. For it is love than makes her grow, it is love that shapes the woman in her. It was his love that made her succeed. It doesn't let her falter, it doesn't let her fall. And everything seems blurry and hazy; it is his love that guides her way. And at the end of the day, she knows it is his love that makes her breathe.