Things You Don't Know
Would I have been able to live had I not fallen in love with you? Probably, yes. I find it hard to die anyway. Had I not fallen in love with you, though, I would have lost the parts of me which I loved the best. The parts which danced alone, the parts which daydreamed, the parts which never gave up on fights. Would it sound cheesy, selfish even, if I were to say that loving you means loving myself?
Loving you wasn't, isn't, cannot be cataclysmic. It's as humanly mundane as my heart beating 84 times in a minute, it's as mundane as a clichéd 90s wedding album. It's as ordinary as the bougainvillea tree in our backyard shedding its flowers everyday. A smattering of pink across the sap green. It's as 'everyday' as the sky turning different shades of blue from morning to night. Just sunlight refracting —since time immemorial.
Loving you is not cataclysmic, you see; it's falling asleep to your voice; it's to catch myself smiling—unawares— when you smile.
I fell in love with your happiness first — did you know?
I digress, I do that often with you. But, you see, loving you is to, in most ordinary of ways, remember to find myself worth loving. Because some crazy part of you loves me—in such humanly mundane ways, passionately, selflessly, unconditionally.
Would you ever know that?
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