Love Poem?

Lately a lot of people have asked me why I only post poetry on my blog. Each time I simply list out the advantages of ambiguity and abstraction. People always buy my argument. 

But is that really it?

Is abstraction really that important to me? Do I really need to hide behind vagueness? Also, isn't poetry specific enough to make me just as vulnerable? Perhaps it is. Then what is it that keeps me from posting my daily rants on this blog? Honestly, there is no real reason and laziness would qualify just as much as fear. 

So today I am going to make an exception. I am going to write freely, without confining my thoughts to the structure of rhythm and meter. Today I am going to write just because writing makes me happy and releases the captive emotions that I so cleverly hide. 

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Love Poem

As I sat there watching her rummage through her cupboard, find her things, throw them in a bag and walk out with my hand in hers, I felt my first real heartbreak. I was eight. I learnt very quickly that love is limitless, that love is unbound and most importantly, that love is fiction. 

* * *

They were my best friends and I could see how happy they were. I watched them as they fell in love and even as they fell out of it. I was in love with the idea of love. As they - infatuated with each other - made and broke promises of togetherness, I felt my next real heartbreak. I was thirteen. I learnt that love is beautiful, that love is miraculous and most importantly, that love is deceitful. 

* * * 

We argued about everything. We started with a fight and ended with it. As I heard him crying in my drawing room, pleading my mother to understand his love for me, I felt the greatest heartbreak of all. I was seventeen. I learnt that love is crazy, that love is passionate and most importantly, that love is flitting. 

* * *

He had a way with words, a sense of calm surety that drew me to him. He silently stood behind me through every ebb and flow. As I waited for him that one last time, I felt my numb heart thaw and break, yet again. I was nineteen. I learnt that love is permanent, that love is stable and most importantly, that love is fragile. 

* * *

I was sure that this was it. That there had to be a reason that kept brining us back together, that kept pulling and gnawing into my very being. As I read everything that he wrote to her, I felt my heart break one final time. I learnt that love is adventurous, that love is exciting and most importantly, that love is illusory.  

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