Love Sick (A Sentiment)

Love Sick

by glenmore bacarro

A friend sent me a text message…

            “…no one in this world is single…each of us are only on different levels of being taken. Some of us are happily taken and some are happily being taken for granted.”

I laughed at first, and then it struck me hard after a while, a straight blow that I began feeling a lump in my throat. An old pain seared inside my chest.

People always say that love will find its way through our hearts. We deny the possibilities that love may also be lost along its way towards our own doors. We are in fact afraid of being alone; being unloved but we deny it. We deny that we are afraid. That in the long run of denying we end up believing what we choose to believe-and at most it doesn’t work, because there are those people who are denying what we choose to believe and believing what we tend to deny. And when it hit us, we felt lost, we got angry, we thought that they had tricked us and they had taken us for granted.

We always sayt that we know how to love. We laugh, we dance and we spread our arms saying that we are in love this much. We can paint the town red, go against the flow and tire ourselves by showing how happy we are. But after all those things we’ve done, after all the “lives” had taken our strengths, when we are alone in our own solitary room, when the darkness and the coolness of the night creep inside our hearts we felt how hollow, how empty our hearts had been. How in much time we had been left and hurt. We let all those bitterness we’ve been trying to hide to overcome us. For a bit of a second we let the tinges of grudges and fears to eat our hearts then we begin hating the people who hurt us and end up hating the life they had made for us and eventually and perhaps the most destructive of all-we end up hating ourselves. Some go beyond the line…killing themselves.

We are inlove to the idea of love. Each of us has their own fairy tale; own fantasies which poisoned every rational reason our mind can ever perceives. We have our own world where we painted love on its every corner, the world of perfections, of happiness and of ever afters. But it is in this world where we set conditions, where the love we’ve been dreaming are made upon our own conditions, own likes, own wants, beyond limits and even beyond perfections. Love without flaws. Love out of reach. And when love knocks unto our doors, to our own disappointments it’s not the love we’ve been looking for, not knowing that love is no perfect. Love is just simply painfully true. And the drawback is, with this love we’ve made, though it keeps our hearts burn with hope, somehow we knew deep within us that we are in near desperation.

There are those loves that simply can’t be given a chance. Love that had been forbidden, love that had been defied by chance and by time, love that had been tabooed by races and sex. With these, we tend to bargain love even to the simplest just for it to be given a chance. We simplify complex twists of love and learned to give great value even to the slightest deed that had been done to us by the object of our affection. Sometimes we even equated simple gestures to love, and cherish every moment, chance may have nicked for us. We hope for things that are next to impossibilities and we are ready to give up everything just for the little spark of love we hope to have. We tend to promise that we’ll handle love with so much care if it can only be ours to have. We embraced and be contented with what chances can only offer to us. Even by any laws…we deserve more!