Love and All That Jazz

I wrote bits and parts of this sometime this year ('07). I cannot claim one incident (or person) as inspiration (and cause) but this one’s for a couple of friends who I know will really appreciate this post. :)

--------
I remember the first time I fell in love. At the end of that epic story, relieved that I survived barely unscathed, I suddenly thought, and subsequently wrote down,

“But all I remember is love
When night time creeps up on you, and everything fades away
What is only left of you is nothing but an empty shell of memories
And you struggle to remember, and you can only start to grasp at straws
And you try and try to relive your life again, this time
Slowly
Will you be able to say
All I remember is love?”

Because he has hurt me. So much so that I found it difficult to remember the good times we shared. Or if those times were really ours to begin with. How did I fall for him, despite my many misgivings and the loudest of alarm bells, guised as pieces of advice and concern from well-meaning friends?

It was when I realized your life isn’t your own anymore and when your heart is in his hands- freefalling, in between sadness and euphoria and you can’t decide which one you’re really feeling- and you don’t want to choose. That feeling of displacement of having your happiness depend on another person. That love was madcap mayhem, ubiquitous yet elusive, turning ourselves into ideal visions of us, when in truth, there could never be that.
So all I could really do was to remember the love. It was the only prize I had, knowing that I am capable of giving all that I am, knowing that someday, I could be the very happiness that another wishes for.