Darkness, it seems have to become second nature to me. Although, my eyes perform their usual behaviour, they seem to have lost their lustrue. An all engulfing sense of doom and hopelessness has pervaded my being, and I have this strange feeling of falling into an abyss which does not seem to have an end.
Its strange considering, the fact that I was literally in the seventh heaven because of the “crazy little thing called love”. My friends, why even my parents asked me the reason behind the sprint in my walk and the smile on my face. It was she, whose presence had brought about this in me. Love is mysterious, it’s a phenomenon, which I am sure all have talked about.
But for me, I sensed it acted as the philosophers’s stone and transformed my world. It had made things appear bright, it had made things appear beautiful for me. A man of words I never was, but in those six months, every piece of music, I heard or every line of the poems made sense to me.
What I would miss most would be the peace that seemed to have descended on me. A deep sense of gratitude and content about everything under the sun, that was my state in those days. Her smile, her touch, the slight twinkle in her shy glance, they made my day.
If only, I knew the dangers that lurked behind the sunshine, I might not have fallen for me. Now, with my very presence being threatened, I understand that the peace I felt was the calm before the tornado, which has engulfed me from all side.
I know its useless to talk about sanity or sense. I know its hard to face my fears.. God knows I have tired. But how can you face something, when you have lost the complete being that gave you the power to face? Its like the earth being pulled under your feet and you being thrown into the black hole of uncertainty and despair.
Tears, they have dried up in my eyes, the dull numbing pain in my heart seems to have become a permanent fixture. At first, my despair had taken the form of rage, but now that rage has turned into poison, which is eating my vitals away.
I wish I knew how to tackle it, but it has become something so violent that I have no control over it. My feeling, my sensibilities, my reason, all seem to have vanished to be replaced by a dull and throbbing pain, which is all out to destroy me.
Now I know what the word routine means, for sure. It is the frightening monotony of things, which vary not, come sun come rain. My breath, my habit, my daily routine has become some thing similar. The man, who resided in my heart, seemed to have vanished or worst trampled in the pell mell of emotions, which took me by surprise. Now, instead lurks a strange being, whose food is anger whose breath give out fumes of poison.
If only I knew that this was the effect of love..
