Ever since I remember I have pondered a great deal as to what love meant. I have felt it, I have gazed at it in awe, in weakness, in strength, in every shade imaginable and it remains undefined without an exact array of words to lay down its foundations and build a mansion of explanations and logic from.

Love is a timeless enigma. Love crosses the extreme. It sets you free and yet anchors you with an aching burden you carry throughout mortally and it remains fresh as the blood that courses its destiny along the veins.

If it leaves such an unfathomable mark on an organ that beats against the chest then it must exist as a sacred wound immortally. We can only dig deeper in the wound and seek sanity and insanity in the pain that it elicits. That pain is a trustworthy companion never leaving your side. Your existence ceases without it.

Love makes you go around in circles indeed. It makes your world go around. Because love bounds you to sorrow and your soul is engraved with pain. You follow pain you end up where love resides. You follow love and you realize sorrow is a sweet intoxicant.

I am in love. I live in it everyday whether I am conscious or unconscious. I breathe it now with a sorrow and pain I have never thought I was capable of withstanding. I gaze in awe at my own state of dire misery. And I am beginning to realize the mystics behind it. They unfold each day, like a blossoming flower, exuberating a unique fragrance I never encountered. And with each inhalation of revelation I lose a part of me which leaves me cold till I cannot bear the beatings of my heart in my bosom. I have groped in the daylight seeking the meaning of its constant existence. I have brushed aside the vulnerability of this ache in the dark because I could not bear to witness the mirage of such a spectacle in my eyes during daylight. Pain courses its way through every pore of my being. And yet I defy all odds and try to put back pieces that fall apart but to no avail.

I bask in the glory of the knowledge that I alone know the extent of my self-destruction. Pain and sorrow has been demolishing every sense I valued for survival. And yet I live in this destruction as though it is the only life support I can cling to and if at any moment it is cut off my existence bears no meaning.

I will never bask in the glory of the knowledge that I have been loved back in return. I have never thought about it. And it never occurred to me. What tears me apart is the simple fact that the man I love the most does not realize it. Several times I have stood in front of him. Spoke with ease about every thought and feeling but this.

How my eyes have caressed the thoughts around the corner of his eyes when he broke into a smile or tears. My eyes searched his face with love and admiration but never gave away the depth of the delicious turmoil that I was subjected to unconsciously even when I did not think about it or wanted to think about it.

I have yearned in secrecy to cup his face in my hands and kiss him with a passion that leaves me insatiated to know him from the core of his soul rather than his body.

I have painted uncountable scenarios of his reflection of emotions and thoughts in my mind and engraved his pain on my soul. If I bleed with melancholy I do it in the expectation that he might bleed with joy, which, somehow touches him every time I know of his pain. Hence he is relieved of pain and I of happiness.

I have been tempted to run my fingers through the silkiness of his hair and feel his breath on my face with an urgency that seeked the secrets of my existence and not lust. I wondered at times how my breath would have affected him in return. Could I have evoked such a delightful consequence?

I cannot lie but there was lust at times. Love is the nest of lust among other mystic it holds so cautiously and yet with a certain ease and grace such that it is simply natural and essential for it to exist.

There were those moments when I wanted us bare, hungry and needy for bodily pleasures in all ways that might be obscene to someone who would not know the meaning of being completely in the state of a captivating insanity out of lust; out of love.

I had imagined the friction and heat of our flesh shrouding every pore sensitive and responsive to the touch of such enchantment. I lived a thousand lives in those delicate hours of ecstasy …….and yet not lived them at all.

I know the rhythms of life in the darkness of the night. I have seen the sunbeams kiss my skin during daylight. But I have never imagined I could love an impossibility. I have seen the marks of it on my face. I have felt the intensity of the impossibility with an affection that gave birth to itself in the deep unseen crevices of my soul.

I do not know how it will end for me because I cannot end it. There’s always a new beginning, a newly born desire that I cannot let go without questioning it in every angle possible. I let the false hopes in me burn like the wick on a candle. Soft and tender and yet full of hidden spite. If the flickering candle fell it would set the world around it ablaze. Raging with malice in an instant engulfing what was. I keep turning into ashes slowly and reluctantly without disappearing in flames.

My presence that ignites from the false hopes of an established impossibility out of love comforts him and keeps him alive. It radiates true hopes of a possibility out of my deception. I bask in the glory of the knowledge that he is safe and have been touched by love to the degree that I will never have.

I will burn eternally for him and I seek comfort in that possibility. The only possibility that I am honored to have because love is a timeless enigma.