Writing has always been my salvation; a distraction from all the nasty things that's happening around me, an ark floating me away from the flood of negativity. In writing, I am most lucrative but when it comes to depicting a feeling as devotional as love, my body trembles, my eyes squint, my hand shakes and sweats like crazy, and my pen freezes till all I can see are the distorted lines in my journals like steel bars trying to crush my windpipes. I am still searching for the right words, and I am the writer in the room. But words can only get us so far, words cannot give meaning to something that, on its own, has none at all. Silence will only hone our poetry.
Nevertheless, I don't believe anybody has ever found solace in love. We either receive too much, too little. Sometimes, it goes unspoken, unreciprocated, unfulfilled, rejected and unpalatable, or completely different from what we originally wanted. I don't understand how come a 4-letter word gets so complicated. We were often raised to love a certain way and designed to accept intimacy in complexities. Therefore, we have specific interpretations for kindness, distance and the details that follow. Maybe, that's why we fall for it in the first place; that animosity between mystery and familiarity. But more often than not, love is complementary, it sheathes all our sentiments from the inside out. We see differently, we hear differently, we perceive everything differently so that for a little momemt, we are allowed to experience perfection.
And she is perfection. When she speaks, her tongue plays the strings of the harp so softly that my eardrums fluctuate in euphony. My heart never stops beating so ferociously at the graceful touch of her skin. The suns feel mediocre by the warmth of her tight hugs. The skies light granite blue when the moon witnesses our kisses. Literature of her lips and cheeks as she smiles is written with cosmic dust all over the Milky way. And my optics start seeing no ordinary human but a divine personification of all the affection that could bind us, both, together. She is Aphrodite rising from the froth of the sea; daughter of Zeus and goddess of beauty, love, and desire. She is the finest, loveliest, tenderest, and most tasteful deity whose angelic appearance could captivate even the most robust and dignified hearts -and even that is an understatement-.
Nevertheless, I don't believe anybody has ever found solace in love. We either receive too much, too little. Sometimes, it goes unspoken, unreciprocated, unfulfilled, rejected and unpalatable, or completely different from what we originally wanted. I don't understand how come a 4-letter word gets so complicated. We were often raised to love a certain way and designed to accept intimacy in complexities. Therefore, we have specific interpretations for kindness, distance and the details that follow. Maybe, that's why we fall for it in the first place; that animosity between mystery and familiarity. But more often than not, love is complementary, it sheathes all our sentiments from the inside out. We see differently, we hear differently, we perceive everything differently so that for a little momemt, we are allowed to experience perfection.
And she is perfection. When she speaks, her tongue plays the strings of the harp so softly that my eardrums fluctuate in euphony. My heart never stops beating so ferociously at the graceful touch of her skin. The suns feel mediocre by the warmth of her tight hugs. The skies light granite blue when the moon witnesses our kisses. Literature of her lips and cheeks as she smiles is written with cosmic dust all over the Milky way. And my optics start seeing no ordinary human but a divine personification of all the affection that could bind us, both, together. She is Aphrodite rising from the froth of the sea; daughter of Zeus and goddess of beauty, love, and desire. She is the finest, loveliest, tenderest, and most tasteful deity whose angelic appearance could captivate even the most robust and dignified hearts -and even that is an understatement-.
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