If I were to ever write about the woman I love, it might not mean much to anyone. It may be ununderstandable as well. More so to myself. I have even been asked so many times by the protagonist herself why I love her so much. Some questions cannot be answered. Infact some questions dont have any answers. Even if it were asked by someone who you think you are answerable to.
What do we call love? Is it just the funny feeling you get in the stomach at a person's thought? Is it just a way of justifying some carnal feelings or is it a sense of security? Or is it just the fancy that you are being fancied by someone? It is difficult to tell. It is even more difficult to tell it apart when it transitions from one to the other. No one knows whether it was for better or for the worse. I am no wise old man who has seen too much in and of life. Infact I am still a fresher. Inspite of my innocence in worldly matters I can pretty much assure you that none of the people in love actually can tell you for sure that there is only one true reason to proclaim that they do so. Even the romances which start off with the worst possible motives could turn out to be a bond holier than what we all know as the Holy Grail. It does not change a thing. Neither does a chocolatey love affair turned into nightmare. The underlined fact remains that we do not know what we call true love.
Yes I do love her more than my life. But then again what did I say? How can I love someone more than my life if I dont care for my life which is the prerequisite to actually loving her? Do I really need to feel that I love her that much? Does the intensity matter if I in reality really care for her? Am I unnecessarily complicating things by thinking about unwanted things? Yes ofcourse my friend. Its difficult to analyse such a thing. It is like asking how hydrogen and oxygen could mix and quench your thirst.
The best advice anyone could give you now was to shut up and drink the water.
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