Glimpses of the bright sun behind the dark clouds

Withdrawal symptoms- they are reactions your body has and exhibits to the discontinuation from use of a particular substance. What does it mean when a girl tells you she is suffering from withdrawal symptoms, from me?

I for one was shocked. Then sad. Then elated. And then the sense of impending doom came over. And I lost all sense of hope. But like a glimpse of the bright sun behind the dark clouds in a rainy monsoon, it brought me warmth when there was no hope for redemption. It brought a sense of peace. It was closure. Final. Unforgiving.

Withdrawal symptoms mean, it is a conscious decision by the user in question to stop seeing me. It means she is trying to distance herself. But conversely it also means she had a soft spot for me. It means I did reach her heart.

Yes, I am hurt. But the ache is there behind a veil now. There is an immense sadness threatening to engulf me, immerse me, suffocate me, blind me, burn me. But there is also a memory - happy and sad in equal measure. Inwardly whatever I might have felt, I know I managed to someone happy for however short span of time.

Yes, this also reinforces my sentiments towards commitment. When I want to commit, it always turns out wrong. When nothing is wrong, I don't want to commit. It's the kind of devil's paradox, when everything is right, I want to make a wrong, and when nothing is right, I want to do a right.

Yes, I love this woman. More than anything in this world. I'll gladly give up everything I have, anything I have or will have, to be with this woman. But I also realise and believe she should have the independence to choose me or otherwise. And isn't her happiness paramount in my endeavour called love? Even if her happiness is bought with my departure.

So here is my plan. Love her unconditionally. Expecting nothing. Once she no longer needs me, I'll disappear. Go places where no-one knows me, no-one will look for me. Live out my life. I know, I'll always find myself someone to love. Someone to cherish. Someone to keep happy. But I know there'll never be another one like you.

But she is a special one. Where I need to try and make an effort with everyone else, here it comes easy, from the inside, naturally. When she will go, I'll lose a part of me. I'll become hollow in places. But I'll fill it up with whatever I can find. Music, Art, Sports, Work or just plain narcissism. But yes. I did give her a part of me which can be hurt. Mangled. Mauled. Twisted and turned. Broken into a million pieces. But indestructible. For within us all resides a person who mends it back.

My dear, I love you so. If only, things were different. If only..
I'm sorry things aren't they way they were supposed to be. I will hope against hope, things turn out well for me. But I know however things turn out to be, you'll be a happy woman. I bequeath everything that was or is mine to give, to you. My only wish is that you are happy. Whatever be the cost to me, I'll buy your happiness.

Good luck, ******.

November Rain

Hmmmm... Here I come out of my reverie in which I had been immersed for the past few days. It was almost as if, life was passing me by, and I was just a curious observer standing to one side as a torrent of unfelt emotions and unfathomable thoughts zipped past me too quickly for me to comprehend the cosmic signs.

A whole day of plans that were carefully planned, torn apart at the seams by someone whom I barely knew, from halfway across the world carrying a few blue stones a box of chocolates and sweeping a maiden off her dainty feet.

But the killer blow comes when you're caught in the eye of the storm. With nowhere else to run, nowhere to hide, all you can do is to face it stoically and hope the blow falls quickly. Painless. Clean. Swift.

But somewhere there will be tears falling silently. Someone else will say sorry. Gallows humor then becomes the only weapon to fight off moist eyes. Music becomes the emotional outlet. Physical activity becomes the vestige to waste yourself.

With nothing left to give anymore, you become the empty vessel. The one who shall never make another noise, another sound. But then again, empty vessels emit a clean pure note when struck.

The storm passes over. You realise, in the middle of nowhere, that the world has marched past as you stood watching, and you're standing in a desert with a soaked cloth. You wish the bear hug, that left you breathless an hour ago, or was it a lifetime ago, had done the job. But the closure is implicit in its absence. With the world back in balance, the mist starts swirling again, enveloping the countryside in its soft embrace.

They say,  "Nothing you have not given away will ever really be yours.", and you wonder how the sour grapes story ever made sense.