The pursuit of love is a never an easy one, many search all their life for the one thing that they have read about in poems and prose in vain. Many lose heart and sadly many more lose hope in their pursuit of the love but sadder still is the lives of men who settle for much less than what have searched for.
Love the platonic love ( love has to be platonic there is no other way any other is but a compromise of the nature I foretold) is never easily found, for if it where easy and abundantly available what value would it ever hope to possess. The very fact that love is praised and priced would only mean that it is exquisite in nature and magnificent in existence. One has to born to the star of great luck, on ones birth the gods must have smiled for him to find what he seek and forever perish in the holy union of what was ones severed by Apollo himself. I believe now that I am one such soul, inadvertantly lucky.
In your arms I find peace for the whole world melts into heaven in a place so holy as that. Against your bosom my heartbeats newly into thine in one melodious symphony of life. In your lips dies I and reborn I am as the prophet of love only to die an infinite times more and be born again every time a bit wiser a bit less blind. You are to me the creator and the destroyer of worlds and when we are one, us is infinite you and I are infinite we are infinite. Forever yours.
In this hour when our families have embarked together on a journey that will forever bind their destinies as a shared heritage. I prophess my love you renewed and as blazing as ever.
I am declaring our inevitable engagement now, details and time and date will follow suit in due time and with due diligence.
What is March to me is a far better question than who is March? Do I know march and how do I know march are even better questions and quite frankly I can’t answer the later duo, simply because I do not know the answers to them. March is an enigma to me, a bewildering and mind blowing puzzle. The truth is that she never existed and if she did her existence was more ethereal that the mirage in the mid-day sun. She exists and she doesn’t at the same time, She is and she is not at the same time, yet she persists like a ghost upon my memory, entangling me into the abysmal oblivion of not knowing who she is and why she came into my life and whether she came into my life at all or is it all nothing but the delusions of a deranged mind?
Any story or any sentence about March must be abstract and shall only be abstract not because I intent to protect the identity of an otherwise domineering public presence from stigma but because she is as elusive to me as she is to you by these abstract words. Her existence for me is just as abstract and doubtful. There are times I scrutinize my sanity for what had happened that fateful day when destiny played the tune of fate going rogue.
I saw her, her eyes pierced into mine like the splinters from a shattered shell. Hungry for vengeance they struck me deep and painfully in the depths of my tattered heart. I cried in unheard agony when the heavens itself must have turned deaf that day. Then she smiled at me her smile spreading inside my body like death upon a famished being and bestowing me with a warmness of the ultimate awareness. Alas disappointment again waits for me, the most peaceful of seconds ceased to exist soon enough as all good things. She came and she went in a fragment of time that was far too small that between dream and reality the lines began to blur.
The truth is that I do not know whether I had lived through March or not, I do not know whether March is an enigma or a truth like the lives under the sun. But what march was and what I know March to be, is that march is the beacon of light from a domain unknown that signaled to me that all is not lost and life is yet to exist. March showed me in the twilight between life and death, between despair and hope, between dream and reality that my destiny is yet to be written and my gardens of love are yet to see the spring.
More From this Series : My Long Love Story
February Part I
February Part II
It was not two years and one day ago that I met her. I knew her even before, In fact I might have even known her from another life. I have seen her even before that, not superfluously but even in the much simpler most straight forward sense. We were friends then and then we were better friends and now much more than just friends in the contemporary sense. But still we are friends first and anything and everything next.
The first time I met her was in my first days of college, in the most casual way, unnoticed and perturbing of each other’s existence. The first time I talked to her was in the gleaming presence of borosil glasses of the many million shapes and the vast variety of colourful liquids that it contained. Under its silent and tinted rendering of a magnificent evening was the first ever sounds greeted her in menial enquires. Then the first share the first touch, the first embrace and the first kiss and above all the first tear drop of love.
Two years back on that day lost among the wondrous celebrations how did I realized that it was to be her? That I don’t know but when our eyes met that day, then and there. I knew we were much more much more than what the earthy bodies have bounded us to be. We sue had history: a history that spanned eternities together. Her imperfections so perfectly sculpted that they fit like a hand in a glove to my imperfection. SO does my imperfections to hers. We complement and we complete and in unison we are eternal, transdential and complete.
Today all I price is her nearness all that I care for is the pungent fragrance of her aroma. Today everything is but another way to her just another step towards the ultimate union that is her and in her. Today everything is about her and about our love for one another. The one fact of the most greatest consequence today is that I am hers and she mine. The one ultimatum is and is always is that