Growing up in the big city, a lot of people told me I was too young to know what love is, and that one needs to grow up and experience life to know what love really means.
I couldn’t disagree more.
I think it is when you are a kid and don’t know better, that you are capable of surrendering completely to a feeling of the heart. You build too many walls as you grow up to be so vulnerable again, and it is often when you don’t know love, that you really are, in love
She wasn’t perfect, like how she’d be if she stared in a movie. She was clumsy, she laughed too loudly, she tripped more often than others did, and she wasn’t even that pretty.
But a famous band, once in one of their songs said that true perfection had to be imperfect, and I remember those lines only because every time the song played, I could see her trip and fall, and every time I play it in my room at night these days, she trips and falls again.
I loved the fact that she wasn’t pretty, it meant that she was real. I could talk to her, unlike most other people her age, who were often prettier. But they were all vain and failed to look beyond their looks, and spent most of their time grooming themselves, while she’d spend the time reading a book or watching a movie instead.
Also, I’ve learnt that pretty women are seldom satisfied. They always think they can do better in life, that there’s someone better looking always lurking round the corner, and there’s too many movies made these days that fuel vanity and I don’t like them, and so I’m glad she wasn’t pretty.
The prettier ones also take too many photographs, I feel.
I never liked girls who posed for photographs. I don’t mind them now, but again, that’s probably because there’s too many of them around.
I cannot remember her taking a single photograph of herself.
She wasn’t one of them anyway.
For some odd reason, I cannot remember the colour of her eyes, I usually remember these things. They weren’t of any striking colour or anything; I remember them just being nice to look at and talk to. I looked into them more often than I can count, in fact everytime we spoke.
All was good, until the day that she decided to leave me. She had her issues with life apparently.
Still, she was the best thing to have ever happened to my life.
Its funny how I didn’t even know it when I had her around.
She taught me a lot of things, things that I cannot even put into words, only feel.
I have a stereotype; I am told in the girls that I look for, the girls that I like.
I think she IS my stereotype, the girl I look for, in the girls that I like.
I was 18, and in awe of her when she left me.
And I don’t think she’ll ever realize the impact that it had on me.
But it is okay.
I hope you like the flowers I have bought today, mother.
The sky is a little brighter tonight.
– Adithya Narayanan