22.8.11

love stories

There is a story about a girl called Lily in Daniyal Mueenuddin's collection of short stories 'In Other Rooms, Other Wonders.' As I read it, I wanted that. I wanted to fall in love like she did, I wanted that life, chaotic and wild between moments of solitude. I felt like, in many ways, I was her, seeking to leave my adolescent past behind me, hoping somehow that I'd find someone who could see me for all of that, but more than anything, help me see myself. And through the story, now familiar with the way he writes I kept thinking I want to stop here - I want to stop here -I want to stop here but I kept reading. I read till they lived happily, and then it all came tumbling down.

Often, it seems to me, that you don't fall in love with a person, you fall in love with the way they make you feel. You make me happy, you make me comfortable, you make me cry, you make me horny, you make me laugh in public places at the most inappropriate things, you make me feel secure, you make me want to wake up in the morning, you make me want to get out of bed, you make me want to stay in bed with you. You don't fall in love with a person, you fall in love with their image in your head. That's what you were to me, a piece of fiction - a feeling, a perception, a trick of the light. And when it comes crashing down, it's only you you have to blame.

That poem of Rumi's I read only recently makes different sense now though -

The minute I heard my first love story
I started looking for you, not knowing
how blind that was.

Lovers don't finally meet somewhere
They're in each other all along.

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