Love Birds | ✓

6. What Dreams Are Made Of

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Most great things in this lifetime start with a dream.

And this would be mine. Amongst the countless material things thrown in randomly just because why the hell not?, this has always been a persistent dream.

Waking up to the sight of you each morning.

Now there's nothing unusual about wanting to open your eyes to seeing the person you love most every morning. I am just like a lot of hopeless romantic out there, wishing for the same kind of cheesecake fancies that somehow seems to have been bid ciao by the emotional independence of the 21st century.

Sure, people have gotten emotionally smarter and more calculative. People test waters much more cautiously now than before, a single heartbreak catapulting emotional spirals like never before.

But why?

The generations before us have fallen in love too. So what's so special about us? Have we lost the receptors to accept rejection that a single one sends us on the trampled path of depression and mania? Or have the breaks to our emotions failed entirely, given how we're almost forced to give our 200% to succeed at everything in the first shot?

Ofcourse the breaks would fail! To recover on 200% ain't no joke.

Perhaps I was like several of my generation mates too. It's why I stayed away from love for as long as I did. A childhood loss, a broken bubble of innocence by harsh reality winds, emotional repression and a trust that can never mend the cracks come the first time it's broken.

And yet love was something I completely believed in. It was people I'd lost faith in. And why not, when most of them had been a bunch of psychological manipulators.

Perhaps this was why our emotional and mental well-being remained hinged on a fragile platter. Too many manipulators unlike before. Or perhaps we'd just found the courage to reveal our more intimate issues. Or maybe those issues wouldn't have been there in the first place had evolution not been so drastic in these past few years.

It could be a debate doing rounds and never reaching a satisfactory end.

But love was not a debate, you taught me that.

It was gradual acceptance.

Acceptance to being who we are and loving each other because and in spite of it. It was accepting the fact that even we could be vulnerable to. That not everything in life was a psychological game or power control until both of you crumble like a pack of poorly made cookies.

Love was a journey, not just an experience.

When I would read novels on love, they seemed fantastic. Why wouldn't it, when with just a dash of gold, you found yourself fantasies that far left reality, so fulfilling in themselves that reality felt a sham?

But when I stepped into the journey of love with you, I realized just how beautifully raw it is. Sure, the raw could leave you with bruises of the kind too, but there's a strange reality to it that's unparalelled.

Waking up to seeing you stare at me sleep or simply you asleep while the sun streams in greeting is no longer a fantasy for me. It's a reality I drink myself high to each day. It's an experience that's as normal as any commonplace incident.

But to the one truly in search, they may accidently stumble upon the world of love.

It's the world I too, stumbled upon when I was least expecting it. How cliché, you wonder? Most things in life we chase are? Getting successful at 25? Being a billionaire at 27? Getting the dream car, the dream house, the dream life full of travel and luxury, all cliché.

Why not try falling in love then? There's nothing cliché about falling in love because no two people can love the same. Sure, expressing love can make you tread upon the paths of what one would consider too good to swallow, but why shy away from it?

If you're going to say waiting for the right one, stop right there. There is no right in love. It just happen, irrespective of whether or not you want it to.

Besides, we were meant to share love anyway. Just the way love can't be forced, trying to smother experiencing love can't be either. And for what? Why treat our biggest strength as a weakness?

To punish yourself for a mistake that everyone makes at some point in time or the other? Or just for fate dealing you an unknown, better hand?

You're laughing by this point as you read over my shoulder into the journal I'm writing this in.

I glare at you acidly but there's no regard, because when I make to smack you, you simply pull me over you like a blanket and everything comes crashing down to feeling the crackling pulse of tension in this very moment.

When our eyes meet.

And I swear upon the very Lord, there's no way in heaven I wouldn't want to wake up to this every single morning.

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