I remember walking down an old country road, not too long ago. I know that ‘country road’ is a fashionable word but well none seemed fancier to use here. I remember walking and constantly having flashes of you. Like a mirage on a heated desert or some form of an apparition. I wondered why this was happening and checked myself before moving ahead. I am not the kind to believe in ghosts and such but I remember being sad on that night. I maybe had a little too much to drink and I must admit I was rather stumbling down that country road. As I walked ahead I saw you again, this time the vision lasted longer. You simply stood there at the end of that road and smiled. I have always loved your smile and that was most definitely you. In that drunken stupor I rushed towards the vision, it was still there waiting for me. Just as I hoped to hold you and fall into your arms, you vanished into the shadow of the night. I remember being slouched on that street, I began to choke up. I guess a drink too many does make you emotional. I remember sitting in silence and feeling the breeze hit my skin, yet I felt so empty. The dark winding street, the barred windows and closed curtains just sunk me deeper and deeper into sadness.
It was then that I began to wonder.
We are all looking for someone who understands us, someone who knows us in ways that we could never fathom ourselves. The kind of people who would know what your next train of thought would be without even uttering a word. Someone who would just know how overrated you thought maple syrup was and never quiet understood what all the fuss was about. The truth of the matter is such cravings can be so dangerously superficial. The fact that there exists such a messiah in this world and they would someday clasp your arm and take you to Neverland. But there is something poetic about that hope. The fact that we as a people tend to constantly and unequivocally fall back into the trend of blindly believing that there is such a person out there for us. Maybe there is, maybe it is all an illusion and what it all means is that our search is truly eternal. Maybe at the end of that expedition, all you realise is that what you were looking for was nothing but a manifestation of yourself. Maybe it was all you, all this while; cooking up stories of some fallacy that you spent your youth searching. There you are, senile and sullen; wishing you’d known better.
But just as I fall into that awful nihilist attitude of perennial pointlessness, there are moments where I believe that maybe it is isn’t really about finding anyone. Maybe we got it wrong all this while. Maybe what is really left is the pain, the hollowness and the gut-wrenching agony of spite. Maybe it is the tears that you shed at the sight of that special someone, maybe it is the knowledge that they have moved on. Maybe it is the fact that we as a species crave and attract pain; just like love it is one of the purest form of emotion that anyone can experience. Just as we hustle our way through life, swiping right and left at that god-awful technology of impersonal camaraderie through our phones; we mustn’t forget that maybe we crave the love and the agony just as much. What is life is left without passion? When your time comes, that senile and sullen old face should have been broken a million times. Maybe that is the true testament of a life lived.