“Someone, somewhere is looking for you in every person they meet.”
Since I’m turning nocturnal these days (or nights, if you prefer), I spend most my nights craving words – poems, stories, quotes. I scrolled through a mound of words to finally read the above line. Eleven words, one sentence soothed my thirst of words. Beyond the soothing, it sent chills down my spine.
So, I read it once and twice. Thrice and then I read it a little more. Don’t ask me why was I obsessing over these eleven words woven into one simple sentence. After the thrill and the elation of the statement, I was, suddenly, trapped in a dark, nebulous cloud of gloominess and sadness.
The engineer in me (or at least whatever is left of her) awakened just to analyse this sentence that had had such a distinct impact on me that I was borderline obsessing over it. They say overthinking kills you. But in my case, it gives me answers to questions I don’t even have to make me realize why I needed that question in my futile existence. ( Yes, read it again. It makes complete sense, I promise.)
Now coming back to those echoing eleven words. To think about it, you’ve essentially ruined someone to such an extent that they seek pieces of you to mend their incomplete soul. No, it isn’t some love-struck romantic comfort that you get. At best, it’s a vain attempt at consolation for despair.
You may question whether it is your fault that someone is so deeply smitten by you. Perhaps not. But if you just cross the fence and remove your rose tinted glasses for a minute, you’d realize that it definitely is unhealthy and obsessive. Would you want to be this sad and pathetic? To be unable to get a grip over yourself?
Believe me, it’s all very rosy when you write about it. About how you were head over heels in love with someone and you look for them everywhere. It sounds like a fairy tale if you get the words right. But what do you think is easier? Breaking someone’s heart or having it broken by someone?
If you’ve read all this way to waiting for a solution or a conclusion (read as consolation) of some sort, then I’m sorry, I don’t have any to offer. Maybe I’m merely venting out or maybe it’s the concealed portion of those silvery sugar-coated eleven words.Whatever it is, it holds me nice and tight, cradling me to sleep with the thoughts of despair and sadness running through my insomniac brain…