Love in my terms

Love, the highest form of compassion one can achieve. Have been reading blogs lately, and my friend has inspired me in many ways to put into words those feelings that I have, but failed to ever pen down. For one, once I start on, it goes on to speak about ideals and such, which are not really what I want to write.

Ever been in a state where you feel the bliss of the first drop of rain on sand? And ever been in a state where you feel the heat of the first rain drop on a desert? Love has the power of making you feel both. You are in ecstasy in one moment and you are in a pit the other. But, the beauty of it all is that you don't realize how very much you appreciate the sadness and grief until you fall in love. And the definitions of pain, hurt, and despair all seem to be suddenly different and somehow philosophical.

Like Ayn Rand said, I cannot share you with the people in this world. But in order to appreciate you fully, I should not care a damn about the very people. That is the beauty of love. The way you hunt around for that very person, whom you find with the blink of your eye. The way your heart skips a beat and your nerves are wrung by high pressure. In order to fully appreciate it in life, one has to be swung from one corner of the ocean to another corner and that should be done a million times for one to realise how very blissful it is.

For that love, a walk in the deserted realms is like a walk in paradise.

You need not look at me, for me to know you crave for me;
You need not touch me, for me to know that you need me;
You need not utter a word, for me to know you are telling me your wildest nightmares and fondest dreams;
You need not respond to my desperation, for as desperate as I am, you too are;

But, I don’t need you, for I know I echo your steps;
I don’t want you, for to want you is to hurt myself more;
I don’t want to look at you, for I don’t need to look at you, to know of your existence;
Your very breath is the cause of my existence;

You cry for me; I ask you not to;
What we had is perpetual; the thing that time can’t wash away;
What we have is not grief; it is bliss, in that it is painful;
What we have is not distance, because hearts don’t know distance;
Alas! That is what you find; and that dear, is not what love is!

To see you with my eyes closed,
To talk with you, with my mouth sealed,
To touch you, without my hands,
To walk with you, being a cripple,
To feel you with my heart; that is love.

Love is an art, with no form but perception;
Love is a desert, with no oasis but sand;
Love is mirth, with no yarn on offer;
Love is an angst, with no qualm to show;
Love is a pain, that has not a medicine.

Love is a tear in your sleep,
Love is a tremor in your heart,
Love is a future with no destiny;
Love is a myth, that folklore sing;

Love requires neither reason nor form of existence;
Love requires nothing to survive;
Love requires no bond beyond love itself;
No thread can bind it, nor is a bridge required to walk through it;

Love requires no form or meaning; for love cannot have a meaning. It in itself is an emotion felt through the nerves and veins, that which carries you beyond the depths of misery and captivity, making you its slave; a bondage unasked! Bondage that is pure ecstasy.