So Much for Love

As I promised myself the last time, I'll tackle love.Now, love is a quaint business.I many a times flattered myself with the cliched soft sensation and all the rest.But, sometime or the other the bubble burst and I was out in the open with nothing as I wished it to be.Nah,never in love.I spend my days listening to the cute tales of my friends' love lives, browsing through their pictures(feeling their happiness),reading Jane Austen,dreaming a lot more than I ought to do and getting a lot fatter than I would like to admit.But there is a lovely thing about dreaming(when you can afford to do it),dreaming about good times and things to come.I watch fruitless romances with baited breath and a gallon of tears(of joy) to accompany in the end.I sigh and gasp and smile and dance(sometimes)when they meet each other in the end.I like to think that I am in love too!!with this ..what should I call it??...this vision.That is how I like it.

I think love is too delicate a sentiment to come out of an old book, or a good painting, or an Austen romance, and merry songs and actually thrive in the real world.Go on eat off my head all you people "violently" in love.But, somethings are just too good to be true.It is a muse to the artist: love can actually make you happy,very happy.But that is as long as you keep it to yourself;the minute a someone enters, the magic is gone,the charm vanishes and many things much less divine try to substitute.Now, will that keep love ,love?There is this poem, one of my favourites by a certain someone we were taught to like in our graduation classes.It goes something like this:

I WHISPERED, "I am too young,"
And then, "I am old enough;"
Wherefore I threw a penny
To find out if I might love.

"Go and love, go and love, young man,
If the lady be young and fair."
Ah, penny, brown penny, brown penny,
I am looped in the loops of her hair.

O love is the crooked thing,
There is nobody wise enough
To find out all that is in it,
For he would be thinking of love.

Till the stars had run away
And the shadows eaten the moon.
Ah, penny, brown penny, brown penny,
One cannot begin it too soon.

Now, it doesnot really matter if you have heard of a mad fellow Yeats and Maud Gonne or not,also it doesnot matter whether we have been in love or not...we can all understand the feelings of this frustrated, failed, crossed lover.It is universal ,though not real for everyone.For me love feeds on the ideal.That is how I'll let it be: a quaint, framed picture on my bedside desk, that I love to look at now and then.

P.S:????