Friday, January 23, 2015


When i first fell in love, as opposed to lust the being of the one i loved assumed prominence in my conciousness. My focus shifted from his body to his heart. Or rather perhaps i blended the two. Each physical caress, fantasized by me, betokened to his emotional depth while his emotional profundity transmuted itself corporeally in my imagination. It was sagacious, this intermingling because loving either the body or only the mind hints at a narcissistic dissonance, an incongruity between the spirit and the flesh.
I congratulated myself on my clear sightedness. I harboured no illusions on his account. I allowed myself to be prepared to be surprised. Not dumbfounded because i had,in a sense presaged the surprise by anticipating it. But the bittersweet redolence of being unsurprised would have left behind a remnant of vanity, although a wounded vanity because my emotional landscape, given the importunity of love, would be implicated.
The contours of my own sense of self realigned when i fell in love with him. I had to reformulate the coordinates of my being. Now that i had, although without professing my love to him, incorporated him into my worldview seismic shifts were ineluctable. I tried to reach out through phone calls, surprising him with random intersections. But my percipience regarding my motives did not transpose into his realization of my growing fondness. Rather it was immanent in me, sporadically surfacing in efflorescent deluges of articulation through expression which he was either impervious to or uncognizant of.
I never told him about my feelings. I was terrified that it may distance him, make him detach himself. And i was willing to put up with this facsimile of a propinquity than to be consumed with unassuaged, unconsummated desire. Which doesn't mean that my forays into professing love were silent or unexpressed. Rather indirections, ellipses, parentheses, suggestive in themselves, were insinuated into my linguistic register. Though these inveiglings were largely unapprehended by him.
Certainties in life are illusory and the compensations of solipsism either anodyne or self destructive. So i knew that if i made him an emanation of my desire i'd be brutally counteracting my commitment to love. And if i allowed him ascendancy then where was my being, my identity. I neither desired total coalescing nor self regarding extension of being. I wanted self and other balanced, counterpointed harmoniously yet conjoined expediently. In this expectation of balance i was prescient.
The interminable protractions of unreciprocated love dampens my spirits considerably. But him, as the other ,is also an arabesque, a luminous arabesque i hug close to myself , knowing that even if reality fails me these iridescent moments of conceptualization of a putative union would be ample recompense.

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