There are two types of love givers: those who give love in exchange for the love they receive and those who give it in the hope that one day it will be requited. The second type is harder as it feels like an expectancy, even though it is richer and more loyal than the former. The former is not an initiative, it is a sheer extension of somebody elses feelings. A reply, a reaction, a smouldered heart. The latter is an engine. An endeavour, despite all odds, not to give up on that marvel which is nurtured only by occasional memories, unbridled passion and daydreaming. It is the inception of love. Unconditionally strong, like a seed in a womb expected to conceive a human after 9 months of diligence. Except that in this case, the 9-month outcome is not guaranteed. Nothing is guaranteed; just the hope that somewhere in the universe karma and other deep notions of unexplainable happenstances and serendipity would grant that love with its fulfilment.
Sometimes, the former, who plays by the rules of give and take with better marketing skills, is happier, sooner. While the latter, who constantly breeds love from the roots of values, with attributes often astray from social constraints while faithful to the individual imprints, remains suspended, undefined, boldly defying the constructs of the human mind. For there are things that the human mind doesnt understand, yet the same things are meant for the heart to fully comprehend.
And then there is the addressee who receives these types of love. Occasionally, life dramas give them both to one, within a complex matrix unable to fix measurements of time. While the two lovers, the sidewalk, with pre-arranged signs, and the lane, faithful to the truth inside, are the ones to make the triangle fit the circle of life. A circle which becomes a spiral, once the dues towards the first have been honoured and consumed, so that the latter can breathe. For, no matter the short shape of one or the long manifest of the other, it is clear that, if the sidewalk gets most of the footsteps, it is the untethered lane bringing out the worth.
While the universe never really stands by, nor is indifferent to wasting undaunted particles of hope, but it conspires with delay and an unhurried delight to safeguard and protect that fight, without protective means bar a bare heart, which keeps the deepest love alive. Hopefully, after nine months, five years or 346 pages, that seed in the womb will be fulfilled. For hope is a good thingand no good thing ever dies. (Shawshank Redemption).
(Picture credits: webitmag.it, Soar, soaring-words.com, 2018.)
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