Slave to my love

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Feb 14, 2018-

Although slavery is now abolished in almost every country of the world, I am still a slave. I am a slave to love. One might ask how you can become slave of your own love. Well, I hope my story will answer this question.

Love is a feeling, and you cannot quite explain what it feels like unless you yourself fall in love. When I used to hear about love and lovers, I sceptically thought to myself, “Well, that is pure drama. Like seriously, how can someone else affect your life to the extent that you become hopeless and sad?”

I consider myself to be lucky to have fallen in love. Though sometimes, I regret it too. Love teaches you a lot of things and I guess, in my case, it taught me perseverance. ‘Love is patient’ is how I would like to define this phenomenon. I fell in love with a guy who had a completely different personality than mine. 

“Opposite poles attract each other” is what they say, same was the case for me. He is very quiet by nature; he wants to just listen, and does not open up much. I, on the other hand, am very expressive. My feelings can be seen on my face while he is a hard book to read. A rose represents love yet it too comes with thorns. My love was not an exception. There were countless times when I cried till I had no tears left on my eyes. I was misunderstood. I too misunderstood him at times. There was jealousy, frustration, bitter feelings and what not. 

I felt like I was the only one pushing the relationship while he did not care at all. I used to have all these negative thoughts about how everything was worthless, even at times cursed the day I met him. Yet, whenever he talked to me, all these feelings would fade away and my heart would melt like ice-cream. 

When I was alone, I used to think of things to talk to him but in front of him, I would be speechless. At times, I wanted to throw him out of my life. I would tell myself, “I cannot live like this. I cannot be the only one who is trying, trying hard to recreate the magic that was once in our relationship.”

I sometimes wanted to hate him, hate him for treating me like this, for not sharing what he was feeling and thinking. But his voice would make me forget everything. I hadn’t realised that my heart had indeed become enslaved. He was the master and I, the slave.

Published: 14-02-2018 07:53

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