Why do I love somebody who does not love me? Why? Why? Why? Why can I find no explanation for it, for love. Love with a capital letter. The real thing, not wispy fairy tales or violent love affairs. Why does it have to be a mystery, why we love who we love. How come I found myself in a place before I chose it? Was there a choice to be made? Why do I love what cannot be mine. Is this me pretending to be alive but too scared to live. Hiding so that no-one knows me. Choosing to be in love but not loved? Trying to feel something? Or nothing? Questions. More questions. No answers. 

Thoughts. More thoughts. All with question marks. I thought grown-ups think in periods. Judging by me, they don’t. There are also what ifs. What if I believe I don’t deserve to be happy so I hold on, willingly suffering a penance for something bad I supposedly did. What if I love because that’s how I was loved as a kid. Mom is mad, she doesn’t like you right now, but it’s okay. If you are patient and behave yourself and prove that you are a good girl, she will forgive you and start paying attention to you again. Mom never took so long though.

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flashback // me, 9 years old, at a funeral, standing next to the open grave of the boy I knew… thinking… tears rolling down my eyes… love, what is love?

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No, no, I adore my life. I can’t imagine anything more beautiful. But something went missing. Every night before I fall asleep, I try to pull the knotted yarn-thoughts apart. Are we supposed to live a perfect life, our whites never getting a stain, our cars – a scratch. My thoughts are like scratches. That means I am itchy. Very itchy. And always looking for someone else to scratch away the things that I am meant to feel. Or what if I make these scratches myself because of some law of life that I never knew about – “You can’t be alive without feeling pain”. Our lives are perfected year by year with better technology which leaves only one other outlet for entropy. Our mind. Our minds increase in disorder as everything else gets whiter & shinier. Our mind became the wild, untameable, undiscoverable species. Yo science, help. Tell me all the scientifically discovered, experimentally proven, sanitized ways I can make my mind blissful paradise and heal my shattered heart, and I will still go out at night to look at the stars and think, think, think. Have you ever searched in Google – “Why do I feel _”? hoping to find The Answer and being so angry when the search results show “The Health Consequences of Thinking Too Much”. 

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Why? Why do I love? I don’t know. But maybe I don’t have to.