In the history of some thousands years since the beginning of human civilization there have been more than billions of books written, turned to dust and rewritten again, more than there are stars in the sky. Books about how everything came to existence, books about the tiny sun in the belly of Earth, books about planets and galaxies thousand light years away from us but never has there been a book written about the simple four letter word called love.
Or maybe there are a few books about it but none that has passed my knowledge and I don't think I would ever read them even if given a chance.
It's always somewhere there in bits and pieces, in poems and writings on pieces of paper or just sitting quietly between lips and how bizarre is it that something that could move oceans, something that is the reason why people sin for is just sitting there quietly, without making a sound like a child put to sleep. It's like catching as many fireflies as you can with a little net where the skies run for eternity, this love.
I remember how everything used to be when I was a kid, not most of it but I do. I could feel the concrete beneath my feet in my throat. I could see the blue sky over my head rarely changing colours although beautiful as ever. I could feel the salt on my dry tongue from the sweat that came from playing too much. I could feel the Gulmohar blanketing us red, over and under, just the same. But I could never feel this love, not the same kind at least. It's unexplainable but I know it's just on the tip of my tongue, burning fire in my belly and god knows it tastes everything good in this universe.
