Wicked ways of love

Five stages of loss. They should have happened. I walked out of a well laid out future. They should have happened, right? Moment of clarity, tipping point, or just plain vanilla wake up call, whatever one calls it, but I missed the Denial memo altogether.

Stage 1- Rage. The blood ran. Anger lived. Kept away from grief (Only wets the face and dries up the soul. Mostly unrequited and undeserved).
Stage 2- Jumping out of a plane (Yes, symbolism can be a lot of fun).

Of course many a conversations happened afterwards. Sympathy was offered, empathy sometimes. Most of it largely superficial. "Better now, than later". Some more heartfelt. "Dodged a bullet". And then, I almost forgot about it till an email came my way from his friend to talk about "it". It's acting like a ghoul. Refuses to die. I thought : Thanks, but no thanks. Instead I talked to this other person.I won't use singular pronouns for them. Pronouns have inherent gender and, hence, provoke judgement. "She is a girlfriend, she's on the same team" (the whole "Chicks before dicks" shabang). "He is a GUY. Of course he'll say that to you" (he wants to get in your pants). Let's just call this person Anon.

Anon: "Are you okay?"

Me: "I guess. I have been indulging in some technically fucked-up Haiku. Other than that I think I am fine.

Leather-bound leather heart

I became in his

Contagious leathery hands"

Anon: "Yeah, that was terrible. Read something funny. Wait, let me send some of my positive energy to you. Meditate. Stop eating garlic"

Me (having spent a few hours in the darkness of Kafka abyss): "But, I am insulated. My nerves, they feel no electricity. My arteries are choked. Oh, I am wasted love. And I love my garlic naans"

Anon: "Stop being such a drama queen. Here, listen to Heartbreaker."

And that's all it took. Somehow, Robert Plant (God, my lord, I mean) bemoaning over heartbreak made me feel way better about constantly shattered and superglued back heart o'mine. Okay, it hasn't been broken THAT many times. Everyone saw it coming this time though, except us. It was not faith. It was just naive. Straw man arguments had become our drug.

नैनं छिन्दन्ति शस्त्राणि

Yes, weapons cannot pierce it. But, words do gash and slash the soul (you might as well wear your bib and nibble on it now). We were not ourselves anymore and yet we kept at it. Finally, I had decided to not be part of a binary world of "of use = keeper/ can be blamed = expendable". Apologies, but nicotine is the only vice I can handle for now.

My.. How do I put it? My nicest Ex. He decided to give me some objective, veritable, candid quality time. Passive aggressive- Yes (Thanks for the political incorrectness).Verbal lashing- You are kidding me, right? That's not you.

Well, my love, apparently I did become that.

So having decided to disappoint the said friend of the said habit, I am back to my Rumi. Hopefully, I won't be birthing any more amuse-bouche Haikus. I like my verses longer, more filling, life-giving, not teasing. Anon and I are going to enjoy a few more Proseccos while discussing "their" Gods and my Robert Plant. Impulse is ridiculously underrated and hindsight's a bitch. But, who's looking back?