A ballad

A ballad

We all speak of love as being something of a fairy tale, a notion that gives our existence a storyline to grab on to. We all eagerly wait on for that very moment when we would feel it unanimously and fall into it at the time when we least expect it to be. But I think its the stories of love that once was are much more interesting than the love that we dream of. Love drawn in the canvas of the past. Our heart never breaks the moment love leaves, but instead it does so when we reminiscence of how it left, in short “you only know you were in love when you let it go”. Two people, complete strangers , hold hands in a moment that they dream of building their lives around. They fight as if all they will ever have to lose is each other. But what they fail to realize is that the fights are much harder in their own backyard than in the neighbourhood ahead. They become so perfect to each other that when the war approaches to their doorstep they find it hard to hold on to their horses. People fall in love all the time, but falling out of it is what it becomes all about. They promise of being with each other no matter how hard the road ahead may be but when the speed breaker approaches beneath their own feet, their hand slide down to the edge of their little fingers. Everything that once was neatly drawn out get draped by a pale of paint thrown recklessly onto it and all of it becomes a monotone. Compatibility, issues, cheats, faith , the objects that suffer the blame but what hides beneath the burkha is nothing but a lie , a lie that no human has ever been able to hide for long, the lie of knowing the other person. Canaries become vultures feeding on each others disappointments. In the crowd of “what”, “when”, “how” and “where” s , loses its way a very quite “why”. A single question that might just have been the perfect solution. They cry, they shout, they blame, they listen but they never ask. Forgiveness becomes a myth and along with it their story. They learn , to change. They force, to not be what they were or simply become what they had always been but had never wanted to be. Career sometimes shows a way out of such situations. Mirrors become their worst enemies, they can hide those drops from everyone but what happens when it comes to themselves ? Some sigh to think as to what went wrong ? Some cry to conventionally null their pains ? Some run, run as fast as they can, but in circles, and then become still with nothing left but a shivering pair of hands. The hands that wrapped around each other when they sat by the river bank and held each other tight failed to hold for one last time to make the other sit and just speak. In the torrential pour of the fights , speaking drenched and drained. Leaving two unknown souls, that knew each other more than they knew themselves in tatters. They say they learned, but did they? They say they stopped dreaming, but did they? What does it mean by moving on ? Where do they move on to ? How far can someone go once they move in into an apartment, called the heart ? Is this actually what it was all about ? The hands that once spread they never draw to a close, but also do not spread even wider. And that is where lies the tiny little thing called irony. To soothe is myth, to forgive is a sin, chances are risks and thus to forget is the only option.
But lets not lose hope. Lets dream of our lives to be like movies, lets keep wishing for the happily ever after ending, lets not lose out on love, not once, not twice not ever. Lets dream of finding it back even if we have lost it forever.
That’s all the optimism that you might find out me through this post.
To all the love in the world,
Wish you find strength to hold on.


P.S. I know this came out pretty dark but hey! no ballads came out of successful love stories. Its the failures that write the sweetest songs.


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