It's just the bloody idiotic, stupid and shitty yet sweet and wonderful feeling that creeps into your heart in due course of a conversation, that we end up calling love as we are coerced to because of the surroundings. May it be the movie you watched last night or the novel you've currently been reading, it is the sole culprit behind feeding this idea into your empty piece of curved substance which rests on the extreme top of your face. How can we call some random feeling love when we ourselves don't know what it feels like to be in love or to be loved. Attraction to infatuation and lust, everything seems to be love to a moronic idiot hit by the virus.
Frankly, it's much more infectious and vulnerable than the virus that causes AIDS. A massive youth of the country is suffering from heartbreak and people say heart attack is scary? Can't they just open their eyes to see the people whining about their past love and how they were ditched or dumped? Or do they think everyone has been trying the sympathy trick to score a partner and get into their pants?
Everyone tries defining love and these days I see a lot of people talking about it on the radio and reality shows advising people how to cope up with love from their own screwed up experiences. But deep down, they are themselves searching for the true meaning of love. In this era where love is sold by the Indian authors at around 100 bucks and foreign authors for a slightly expensive price, there are hypocrites who still deny believing in love, but at the corner of their brain, they are still waiting for that special someone to come into their lives.
But this sweet little spice apparently called love which may or may not be love enters into your mind like a bomb thrown by some terrorist group which even Major Samar Anand cannot dispose off and ruins your entire life and destroys your friendship if the person you assume to love is your best friend.
Nothing appears to be the same once this bomb of love explodes in your life leaving every part of your body burning and your heart broken into a thousand pieces. Not even the friendship you once shared. But no matter how harsh the consequences could be, you still go ahead with it, because it has effect over your nonsensical brain more than that of a bottle of rum. No matter how broken you'd be, you still make attempts to get destructed again. Well, that's the irony of life.
Well, the darker side of love still seems brighter than the candle light dinner you've ever had? I salute you, then.
So, the point is, no matter how messy it is, always be in love. Bullshit. That's what Ayushmaan says. Keep calm and write about love. You may some day find it when a person you don't even know or haven't even met reads what shit you've written about that shitty feeling and falls for you. Well, for me? Love is injurious to my health. I should stay away from love, even if the Ted Mosby in me is too desperate to find the love of my life and the would be mother of my kids.
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