Beyond us (EDITING)

2. Innocence of mind

I have crossed paths with so many people who talk about love. Some say it is a once in a lifetime thing, others fall in love with every other story they come across. I often think about all the people I love or loved. I remember the depth, the burning passion, the struggle of saving a relationship. 

It took me a couple of people, almost thousand stories and a lot of rainy evenings to realize that there is this other form of love, one that doesn't need to be touched or felt. It just exists, as sharp as a cold knife on a warm vein. 

Like a death trap, that we are aware of. It is there, living with us, unnoticed. Yet, we chase all the other forms of love, seeking validation from the other. But in the night, when the warm blood rushes in our veins, we return to the death trap. The purest form of love. A kind that can neither be sustained nor be released. One little trip and our soul will be free. 

A love, as meaningful as a mother's love, knowing things about us that we keep searching. The kind we can't afford to lose yet do not seek. Love, as real as spring, bringing life to the dead. Waking up the inner you. Pushing you towards one more day, through one more night. Painting your canvas into colors, covering the grey in you on days you need a spray of life. A love like the warmth of a chilly winter afternoon. When like a flower we are drawn towards the sun. 

It took me so many nights to come across a chapter of love that has to be skipped. A story we know, we take along with us to the bed. A book we don't choose to open, A smell like petrichor, we are drawn to. A bunch of skipped stories. A thousand sighs. 

Now, knowing wondering how this one will end, some stories are better left untouched. We are one of those stories. Better unaware of the end.