Love has never been anything more than a fallacy. We celebrate love and glorify togetherness yet there’s hardly anything more romantic in the world that the heartbreaking saga of a love unreturned. Turn to the arts for validation and you will find a host of literature replete with the nuances of unrequited love and painting such vivid details of the melancholic trances that a one sided love can lead into. In poring so deep into the recluses of a love unfulfilled or a romance unfinished, we end up fantasising the incomplete saga more than we cherish the serendipity of two hearts beating as one as an assertion of that thing called love.
All said and done however, love in any of its many forms have reiterated itself time and again as a substantial encompassment across human lives. And anyway, what do we make anything out of a life bereft of the joy of love and the intensity of emotions? To love is to feel, to love is to live and to love is to supersede the gloom of solitude. How then do we not celebrate love, in all its flaws and failures, in all its heartbreak and despair and even in its uncontested submission to all things fallacious?
This however is just one manifestation of love- of the ones who love. Sure, love is truest when it is a one sideous rendezvous of feelings so intricate that emboss over the delicate fabric of the heart in hues so vibrant and in pinches so soothing that even in all its pain and distress, we keep returning to seek solace in its magnanimous essence. But even in all its abandonement and undoings, love seldom is to the lover what it is to the loved.
For the one who loves, and loves without boundaries, this beating of the heart is the sole reason of their lives. They live by it, erupting in mellow happiness in the thought of a love unacknowledged or residing in blissful comfort in the knowledge of a romantic brewing. Either they resign to fate or rebel against it, but these are the souls that still dwell in a purpose. In harbouring such instincts and emotions as basic as life itself, these lives derive a reason to live and lives on through their embrace of the reds and pinks of the blushes of love.
But what about the folks non aligned to the drowsy euphoria of love? What about the ones who are loved, and therefore the ones who are blessed, yet cannot partake of this blessing within their very nature? What would it feel like to have all the love and reside only half heartedly in that realisation, dwelling otherwise on the pensive nature of their existence? For when someone is loved, the world only counts their blessings and envies their luck. But what about the repercussions the ones that get the love but do not love back have to face for something they are not even responsible for?
For one, love is seldom something that is learned. Love might be an emotion, but the nature of this emotion is no any alien than an instinct itself. So even if you love someone devotedly and wholeheartedly and like no one has ever loved anyone else in this whole wide world, they still can at times not be party to your immense devotion.
“She would defend herself, saying that love, no matter what else it might be, was a natural talent. She would say: You are either born knowing how, or you never know.”― GABRIEL GARCÍA MÁRQUEZ, LOVE IN THE TIME OF CHOLERA
But inspite of all their failure, ironically of a love that they don’t even feel, aren’t the loved ones chided just because they choose to let go of someone who cares for them so much? Tell me then, does love not become then as much of an anguish to those who are the recipient of it as much as it is to the one who is the bearer of it? And yet, scarcely does the world touch up on their plight.
Nowhere in the history of the arts, has there ever emerged a view prudent enough to deliver that love can be as much the villain as it is the hero of the masses. Nor has any science dwelled into this catastrophic paradox that love can lead into. Because with all its claims of hormonal play and stuff that revs up love all the more, science has not really stayed away from the rosy pursuits of love, after all.
And this is just what the world does to them- the heartless folks otherwise blessed with all the love of the universe. In the rapturous cacophony of counting their blessings and guarding their luck, without even feeling one iota of what makes up the dreamy divinity of love, these are the souls dwelling in a different despair of their own. In their ‘guilt’ of not feeling the love the world tells them they should, the ones who are loved struggles to take love in their stride. Whether that be the helplessness of being the source of suffering for someone who means only well of them or eating away into their innate essence of not getting the feels, love does not always enrich all.
To love is no sin, and so should be the inability to love in all its delusive connotations. But seldom does a love frowned upon maintains its dignity, manifesting rather as such a complex contradiction of volatile vulnerabilities that shatters unfortunately not the glass ceilings but rather, fragile hearts and fugitive emotions. In the range of unintentional dereliction and impious impunity therefore, love translates as something destructively despondent for the masses.
Returning to the trauma of those who have the love, the fallacy is one of even greater intensity. Dwelling seemingly in the doldrums of what should have been a dreamy disposition is no mean matter. To abide by the norms of some good that in reality is the greater evil is a farce unmistakable.
Consider then the plight of all those caught on the other end of the love spectrum who lose at times a friend, at other times a confidante or in rare times even a platonic soulmate to the deep entrenches of love. Even in the love they gain, are they not the ones to lose out on such things and people that they cherish the most? Because not everyone in the world hankers after the bliss of love. Some want just the comfort of companionship or the warmth of a relationship that only spurs heartfelt realisations about life.
For people like those who does not view life in only the singular shade of love, it’s indeed unfair to expect from them such a love they don’t even desire. And yet because the world expects deliverance and love somehow has to beget love, the ones who are loved find themselves in a dilemma of their own. Not feeling a love expected of them should not make them evil. Yet it does, very often and with such profound impact that leads them not to love anytime in life at all. In having to scrounge hard for the worthiness of a dream they do not even covet, these are the people who end up loathing the leniency of love more than lauding the loveliness of life itself.
Not everything in life needs to embody the fantasies of a romance to deliver its charm. Life aims to be pretty simple and naive, only if we let it be. Dwelling sometimes in the recesses of love that can be a dizzying dive into abyssal depths only endows life with much of its plaintive sufferings. That of course is not to deride the wonders of love or anything. But not every heartening needs to soak deep red in the nuances of love.
Because blithe can sometimes be a reference not merely to improper indifference but to cheerful cheruby commonalities as well, it becomes so necessary to let love find its own way in rather than carving a path for it. Ultimately, it’s also about what love means to whom. There are people for whom love is the best feeling ever. Then there are also folks who look down upon love as being just a waste of time. It’s all about how love manifests itself, whether it seeks acceptance in its good or in bad. Which is why rejecting love outright or parallelly accepting it all in happy embrace is never the singular right thing to do.
Specifically when you are giving your love to someone who is not even seeking it out, it’s essential to keep the self restrained. Love might not be an ill but neither it can proclaim to be the panacea of all ills. And setting about in branding someone as unworthy of love because they do not appreciate it enough already is also not very righteous in itself. Not just because it speaks of your ill but also because it disrespects the one your love found so much happiness in.
Ultimately love is but a fleeting emotion. Live therefore in its transience and strive for it to make it universal. If not however, at least try to not drain it of its pretty tinge and radiant blush. Let for once, love be yellow and wacky and gilded in green, without all things shimmery in silver and golden in sheen. Trust me, life would not be any less worthy with or without the lustre of it.