Coffee dates and roses were not her cup of tea. Once, they had been an option. They had stared deep into her brown eyes and beckoned her with an elusive appeal. The dramatic chance encounter, the first date, that first kiss, the perfect white dress topped up something borrowed and blue. They were all within her reach then Poof! They were gone. Life hit her with uncomfortable surprises, taking everything from her including things she didn’t even know belonged to her. She knew she had changed when pain, fear, and anger took control of her mind. It felt like the world had no room for broken things and her undoing could not be undone. Hopelessly, a part of her still wanted the dream, that dream with kisses in the rain and picture perfect memories. However, she knew that was not her path, it never was. Unlike popular belief, she was not a prisoner.
While lying on the grass partially dazed she opened her eyes. She could clearly see them together a lifetime before, on the day they met… He, with his beady eyes, had half-staggered to her and offered a drink and minimal conversation. She had laughed at first, that was not how anybody ever stepped up to talk to her but he had soulful eyes and she needed another drink. The minimal conversation turned into hours of jokes and shared tales. As they chatted blissfully in the dark kitchen everything else seemed to fade away. Halfway through a choking laugh, she slid off the barstool and just before she could fully succumb to gravity she felt a firm grip at the small of her back. His hands on her had a comforting familiarity like a rainbow on a rainy afternoon. At that moment, a chart had been drawn for them and it was not long before their lives were tangled in webs of messiness.
The world is a mysterious place, especially for wild hearts. She found herself calm in the chaos of their situation. The only moment they felt real was in each other’s essence. They had their moments when flying kitchenware was their mode of communication but he was the only person she could stay up with till 3 am singing Troye Sivan and Dua Lipa. They had driven each other to insanity but she loved the afternoons they spent randomly reading each other’s horoscopes and believing that their fate was written long before their existence. The world had chosen not to understand people like them. She was an addict and he was an unending high. He filled her soul with magic and she spoke the language of his essence. His hands had traced lyrics of ballads on her skin. Her scars knew his tongue and she could communicate with his demons with undisputed clarity. For the most part, they existed on their own plane with different rules different communication and a different type of healing for their wounds. Their loud silenced the noise in the world. They were living life feeling every moment and taking it all in the good bad and the crazy.
“I get this… An honest version of this life. Us, adventure, healing and a chance to love fearlessly,” She whispered breathlessly into his ears and rested her head on his chest. He still smelled like a mystical forest, and the dewy grass fit perfectly at that moment. As he let out a slight heave she felt his breath on the top of her head. It was reassuring, she knew she had satisfied the cravings of her wanderlust.
They were most people’s description of toxicity, two people terrible for each other. The world was right when they said it wouldn’t last-it didn’t. They had struck out the perfect temporary forever. The difference was from where she stood, a different story had been told. She had willingly made a choice to love in a world that had robbed her of that one mercy. She chose to fall in love like was an easy choice and she made it work up until that very last moment. She knew her life had been worth it. Her last breath was a memoir of life, though short, well-lived.
Romantic comedies, plain old fashion romance movies, and fairytale stories always have a lot to tell us about love. Religion, societal teachings tell us even more about who can love and what love should look like. Those tales do not celebrate the diversity in people and their stories they make us feel inadequate and often too broken for love. We need to allow ourselves to love, be loved and find happiness because everyone deserves to find their place in this world whether it’s in another human being or a pet or career and fairytales need to tell stories that are real. Your idea of a tragic tale could be someone’s happily ever after.