this thing called love

A million different perceptions towards love. The supposed almighty four-letter word. L-O-V-E. Damien Rice's "Cold Water" evokes some thoughts of romance, love and relationships...

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There's the one who constantly asks "What happened to love?" and seeks some sort of spiritual connection before lust of any sort would even be allowed to set foot into the relationship. The one who patiently awaits the hand of Fate to deliver the love of his life.

There's the one who looks everywhere for his definition of love. That spark that sizzles with the first glance is enough to turn his mind topsy-turvy and screaming for a companionship with him. Imaginations of the sensual, loving kind surface. Heart yearning for a someone to snuggle, share secrets/laughter/joy and to just know will be there.

There's the one who walks away from a 3 year relationship upon request from his partner. The tears fall daily, for this tough guy who's had it rough. The pain that the parting brought. His heart yearns, yet his mind beckons him to stay away. The heartache multiplying with his fear of incompetence.

There's the one who finds her love after years of mistaken pairing. The contented smile that widens on her face after every kiss with her beloved. The glow she radiates in the arms of The One. The road was tough, and it will continue to be, but bear with it, for all is worth it just for that peace, happiness and love you feel. We will all be here for you.

There's the one who vows never to be in a relationship ever again and denied his admirer time and time again, yet at the same time maintaining some form of connection through coffee-talks and giving hope, although uncertain at that point was it false or true.

There's the one who did not believe in love but wanted a happy family of her own. Then when love came knocking, she answered the door, only to be rejected time and time again. The yearning to love no one but him empowers her zero-tolerance and nil-patience. He relents, and they love.

Now comes the time when she strokes her pregnant belly, almost like an hourly ritual, thinking of her man at work. The urge to rush off to his side overpowering. Squabbles and fights ensue from time to time, yet the love for each other is barely scratched by the tussles. It hurts nonetheless, but love remains.


I see those around me, with their fairytale ideals,
searching in pain, in vain,
for that elusive feeling
called love.
Just to realise that I was one of them
in this world
seeking, finding, hurting, falling.
In times when you feel unappreciated
by my nonsensical ramblings
about all that should have been,
all that must be,
please remember that we want
no one else except each other.

We shall reinforce this warped love
when we hold hands again.
Chest to chest, arms around each other,
lips locked in embrace,
nose-rubbing, smelling,
whispers of welcome, fondness, desire.
I want you here with me and baby.

Pardon my child-like tantrums
of wanting to sleep in your arms,
and of you being at home with me each day.
These are my true emotions,
simple cravings to be fulfilled.
A place of our own,
a home wanting to be built
from love and care.
A baby waiting to arrive as our child.
A wife, anticipating her husband's arrival home.
A love not wanting to waste away
like everything else in this world.
A love I wish for you and I to remember
before hurtful words are spoken.
A world of our own.