I do not understand how love works.
The same person could tell me they 'love me' and tell these same words to another person and feel it both times, but in different quantities. A little less for this friend or this sister or this daughter and a little more for whoever they love next to me.
I am not saying that I am not loved, I am just saying that I feel like I am not loved, enough.
Now, I could've just been being dramatic, I mean at school they do ask me atleast three times each day to have lesser expression when I talk and at home my mother tells me to laugh a little less louder at the video I just watched and my father tells me to turn my voice down an octave. But sometimes, It is the first time I laugh all day and after, knowing how obnoxious my laughter is I never want to laugh again. I never want to be happy again.
I do not understand how love works - for other people,
If I ever tell someone that I love them and I don't say it to everyone, but if I have to you and repeatedly told you so with purple hearts to adorn the message god Damn, I love you like I have loved my mother for seventeen years and I may complain a lot about her but I love her so much. I love you, YOU like I love my mother - we could've just become friends like ten days ago but this morning you sent me a little message that made my day so I told you that I loved you and then you call me up in the evening with something that made your day bad and I stopped doing whatever I was doing to grab you a pizza on my way to your place and let you have it to fill you as you let out pain that you have contained for so long. I be your support for as long as you need. Then I go home study all night for my exam tommorow, give the exam, have a panic attack, have a panic attack and go home, but atleast I was there for you. I love you. That's how much I love you. I love you enough to be here for you no matter how far away you would be. If I am Aditya Mehra I swear every person I've ever loved is Samishtha Bhave because, I would leave everything and come down to Pune all the way from Banglore to see you for I missed your smile.
I do not understand how love works.
How do you love someone lesser than you love someone else?
I mean if you love someone lesser than you love someone else how can you truly truly love them?
I mean you could be less closer to the person. Knowledge about a person can be divided,
but love? Love? How do you divide this?
and if you do, you're not anymore 'heart-full' than a butcher who sees no, feels no as he kills so much life all day.
I do not understand how love works,
My friend broke up with her boyfriend and I was trying to comfort her over text amidst the pandemic lockdown in my town, my old habit to be there when I cannot. She told me to pick a different nickname for her 'cause this one reminded her of him. I had given her that name two years ago, she had said it was her favourite Nickname amongst the so many stupid ones she put up with all day. I had thought that, that name was special to the love between the both of us but her love for him had been more than it had been for me and that overlapped what was the importance of the fourletter name that had been so precious for both of us. It hurt so much. But I just stood there with her as she poured her heart to me. I called her her real name for the first time in so long while promising to pick her a new one but honestly I dread having to change her name in my mobile phone contacts. I loved that name with all in me and I don't know how to change that, for love to me is pretty damn concrete.
My sister woke me up at 2 am and fought me out her 'side' of the bed. I had had a nightmare and moved to the side with the furniture for it felt safer. She did not care. Yelled at me when I woke up crying. When I told her that I had a nightmare she said I was lying and I think I was because if that what I saw was a nightmare this was a nightbaroness bare of love from her dead husband.
(It's a funny metaphor now that I think as I edit the poem but I am too stubborn to take back things I said)
It is 3 am now and I cried for fifteen minutes alone in the store room before coming back into ours to write this poem. My father saw me and he did not come to comfort me. I think he will bring it up again at lunch tommorow. Reasons for why I am not able enough to go study in a city.
Don't even get me started on how my elder sister wasn't faced with objections when she had wanted to go out and study.
I had balance scales in the wide collection of kitchen toys my mum got me as a little girl. I loved them back then however, now I dread them.
I do not understand how love works,
but if people keep giving it to me in rations, I will never love again atleast, not in the measurements I have so far done.
