I see lovers biting into each others' throats, not all, but some of them, standing at the edge of their wits not being able to stand each other, and looking into absolute darkness. Though I am condemned enough to feel that being in love and feeling loved in reciprocation are two things indispensable, I also happen to be one of those scholars who strictly believe in the fading away of love. It's a contradiction.
When I recite names from the past, some recall emotion, but mostly otherwise. Also, isn't love, like happiness a very very momentary emotion? Even if love were to last more than that moment, and I do believe it does sometimes last months, even years, the realization of it, comes only in those few bright moments of the mind.
Down that lane, which we have all been through to be however screwed up we are today, is that menagerie of men. Some we undermine as infatuations after we moved on, some we still doubt if we were in love with, some we have begun to hate, some for who we feel nothing more than cold indifference, some who have grown to be strangers, and the rest who have hugely contributed to this blog, unknowingly though. Sometimes I wonder if I should be charged guilty of having been infatuated these many number of times. Should I be accused of naming songs after the ones who sent me those? Of naming folders in my laptop after those who never paused to care? Of writing poems for those who never gave me even a card? Of naming my dresses after the ones I associate them with? The red one with black polka dots after A, the one with the purple print after B, the golden one with embroidery after C?
Life is not as tragic as it seems, it's rather funny. In few bright moments of the mind, even bordering on ridiculous. And honestly, there haven't been as many as I make them seem to be, just that I exaggerate to escape. Just the few, chosen ones, who were mismatched with me, by accident, inside the dull chambers of my mind. But now that, it matters, now that love has come to count, and is to be valued in return, I wonder if I should exactly consciously feel that I have been roughly polygamous, harboring affection for different men during separate phases of time.