Lovely love story

I have just read the most lovely love story by someone whose mind I love. And as is usual, the most lovely of love stories usually end or start with a heart break. Does it only count if a heart was broken? Does the pain contrast so much with the bliss that was the relationship’s highest point such that it has to be written about?

I don’t know. But I know that I too would probably talk about a broken relationship more than an alive one.

But not for the reasons that most people do. Wait, why don’t people talk about their on-going lovely relationships when they are still on-going?

Is it maybe because it’s hard to capture magic in words? Compared to loss? Is it because laughter, the kind evoked by someone who sends shudders down your spine is a little hard to write or talk about?

Or is it because love in it’s high points feels like this out of the world experience, like seeing a shooting star for a whole minute. Nothing else matters at that point. But you also can’t go around calling people to come see that dazzling light passing through you.

So you just stay rooted there. It’s one thing to describe a shooting star, it’s another to describe what it did to you.

Maybe because it does indeed feel personal. Private. For you alone.

Maybe.

But sometimes, maybe because some loves are judged harshly by the people you would have told. They will concentrate on the type of star that enamoured you, rather than the fact that you got to experience something that most people die without experiencing.

Other people say that one shouldn’t care that much about society. That what sort of life is that, when you can’t talk about the stars that make your world spin?

But then again, we still live in this world, right?

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