Love is really shit. You pressurize yourself to bring it out of you, and then you have something or other to re-generate it. But sex isn’t the same shit, one can neither dare to taste it nor intentionally smell it.
The desire is not of being in love or having sex, but of being you. Clamped with rusted nuts, we just act to be happy; and if not happy yet mature. And then someone; who was also clamped somewhere and possibly played the same game of pretence; simply knock the nuts and set you free. Free to be you in their presence. You can laugh with everyone; but you can cry just in front of them. And certainly, we call it Love.
Clutched between metals and materials, I thought of penning down a love story of two cancerains. But soon, when the real account that inspired me to write was on mid-way, I realized they weren’t together anymore. I wish I could write their story with my pen, but it will remain a story, a dream that he wished to come true. The story remained incomplete, and eventually deleted from my pages. But they are penning their accounts, anecdotes by anecdotes, separately in their own diaries which will remain undercover forever.
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Socrates was once asked, “What’s the cure for love at first sight?”
The great philosopher said, “Take a closer look. It helps a lot”.
- A story that turned into random thoughts!!
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