" Do you believe in love? " She asked.
With curiosity glimmering in her eyes
Waiting impatiently for my answer.
I said " Why yes of course I do otherwise I wouldn't be saying that I love you . "
Her eyes hinting a sense of dissatisfaction like this wasn't the answer she wanted to hear.
" No do you believe in love?
Love as an emotion, love as an expression, love as a declaration, love as power, love as a sense of freedom, love as vain, love as a conquerer. "
I looked at her in awe, wondering how deeply she felt, admiring her thoughts, the beauty of her mind.
" Do you believe in it? " She asked again, eagerly waiting for my answer, a sense of desperation in her voice and a pang of hurt flashing in her eyes, hoping for an answer I cannot give her.
I firmly say " No, no I don't "
The first tear drops, she looks away.
I grace her hand, but she pushes it away,
she pushes me away.
Before I get a chance to tell her why,
she walks away with ache in her heart and tears in her eyes.
She looks back one last time and says
" If you don't believe in it, how can you ever mean it when you say that you love me? "
I hesitate to speak my mind,
but by the time I am ready, she has already walked out the door and out of my life.
So I confess, to the old and empty room I am in, with no one to hear me, just the four walls I am guarded by.
" Oh I believed in love once, all of it, I felt truly fierce and powerful, yet gentle and kind. I was caressed and kindled, I was reminded time and time again for its significance. "
" I saw love everywhere I went, the leaves dancing as the winds whistled, the ink of a pen making love to paper, the faint sound of laughter that came from that little girl when she first learnt how to ride a bike, how the mere smell of coffee in the morning lightened up the faces of so many, the joy in his face when he finally found the song he was searching for days, the way that rusty scent of an old novel safely tucked away in the back of some shelf rejuvenated times I had almost forgotten about. The way my eyes lit up everytime I saw my father plant a kiss on my mother's lips. The way he looked at her, the tales of the past, the present and the future that he told, ' Your mother and I? I met her at the old vinyl shop it was love at first sight and I plan to keep her here with me forever.' "
" Oh how I wished to have found a love that strong. But as I grew older I saw it all. The truth. The dark truth that love blinds you from. He only loved her on the good days, the others he spent drinking away. He then takes his first hit, buying her flowers the next day, calling it love and an outburst of anger, promising her it will never happen again. It only happens more until love turns to anger, to pain and to hurt. I watch it all enfold in front of me. Making a vow to myself ' I will never be my father' "
" Years later when I saw her, I called her ' the love of my life ', showering her with all affection left in me, I gave her the world I thought. But the world too comes to an end, so when I ran out of love to give, I gave away all the hate, an emotion you can never run out of. I poured all of my misery on to her. The next thing I know I find her bleeding in my arms, realising I had become what I had feared the most, my father. But that day I also realised something else, love is an illusion, it is a veil that only keeps the monster in you caged. But when the hunger strikes the monster eventually breaks free, revealing all your wounds and flaws, your raw and naked self. The unlovable side of you. So no, I do not believe in love and all it's glory because it is not true and never will be. "