Stories of dying of love
Nobody dies of love. But I don’t speak about homicides or if someone jumps from a bridge, drinks poison, and dies because he didn’t get to be loved by someone as if it’s possible to be the owner of another’s love. Well, I speak about the special love when people are sinking in their thoughts, living in loneliness, and don’t stop to think of their desired objects. This love leaves us sitting on a bench in a place and we think that we are the only person in the world who is suffering. This love is a paradox. Can you imagine anyone fainting and collapsing because he is falling in love?
Ok, you suppose that someone can die really because he is loving and after that he passes away without return. It’s boring! Someone loved and went away and left his love here to be loved by someone smarter, braver to whisper a lot of sweet words in his ear. If someone dies because of this, it’s very strange!
Again. You find your love and you get lost and don’t get to live far away from him because you want to feel his smell, to touch his skin, to hear his voice, to kiss him… Is it possible someone dies of this? You are kidding me, guys, nobody can die of this. In fact, they have to enjoy this wonderful time.
Ok. You can say that you miss him. And do you need to die because of this? When you are missing someone is a good thing. A kind of thing that shakes us, a sensation that is lacking the air. It’s a pain without suffering. It’s suffering when we are closer to him, and we need more and more intimacy. When we hug our love, we don’t want to separate from him. It’s a fight of feelings and we need to rest for a moment to repeat it again and again.
Can someone die because of this? No, no way! Is this the moment to die, in this precious moment? The moment that we wait for a long time and finally it happened! Oh boy! It’s not time to die but to enjoy the moment.
But, it’s ok, you suppose that I agree with you. Dying of love. How many poets have died of love? Do you realise that poets who write about death, in reality, don’t have company besides them? They are living in a disordered imagination for a moment, and they try to justify a love absence, maybe. Would poets waste their time writing poems if the poesy, their lover, is beside him, in his bed? If they can love their poesy, it’s time for action!
In conclusion, this story of dying of love is a big lie, fugacious words, and foolishness.
In fact, guys, in reality, nobody dies of love, we have to love someone all time because it’s free.
Photo from: Photo by freestocks on Unsplash
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