For the Bitter One

An Anonymous reader left two scathing remarks on my blog last Saturday.
The longer one says:

You deserved all of it after what you did to him. i'd probably do the same to you. i'm surprised you're still breathing. people like you should be dead. no sense wasting oxygen for creatures like you.

I can only think of one person who can be this bitter or mad at me. And so I can only say sorry. But to be honest, I’m confused, why only now?

Love is a weird thing. And it comes in so many forms. There’s the steady kind where, in place of the expected big fireworks is a slow build-up, hinged on affection and familiarity. And then there’s the illogical, crazy spell that comes like a thief. It gets you disoriented and despite the consequences, despite knowing that it has so little chance to last, you, lovelorn warrior go through with it and tell yourself, it’s one of those once in a lifetime thing, and so maybe it will not last but it just feels right, and so you jump and savour it's fleeting sweetness.

Sometimes it is easier to point the finger. It was you, if you’ve never come into his life, We would have been okay and happy. Everything was fine until you came. But it’s not as easy as that. Bear this in mind, dear. For every enchantress, is a willing victim. And that is not even a proper metaphor for the dance, for the seduction we play for love.

It is a spell, that shifts us from dominatrix to slave in a single breath. Love allows us to move into roles effortlessly, how we are both lovers, friends, how we are sinners even as we think this must be what heaven is.

I lost two loves in a year. But such loss has finally lost its power over me. There is no hint of sadness or melancholy. I am hopeful and thankful for the experience despite all that has happened. It’s so easy to hold love when everything is still sweet, steady and the world’s all red and rosy. But what is love, if not something you fight for despite the difficulties. Sometimes, love is the right choice at a wrong time. Sometimes, it is tinged with regret. Sometimes, it is so indescribably amazing that you live with the sadness that is tied with it. Love, like life, can end without warning. It can be snatched for a million reasons. And so you might see love as a test, a challenge, a turn into the unknown. You might think of it as something to possess, an anchor, that certainty you longed for in life. Until it proves all your assumptions wrong.

It is also a flame that burns you long after it has died. For all the complications of falling in love and its aftermath, I think of love as an unfinished poem. I wait for words to drift into my experience, to make something out of what my life has shown me. Your life and mine, love. It’s all the same. You live with what you have and not what’s been lost.