Missing someone is so strange. It gives you a farrago of emotions, ranging from a terrible unrest to a lasting calmness in lieu of a fleeting hope that the isolation will be over soon. I wonder how intensely you must love a person that when you part, even temporarily, a sudden paranoia grasps you by the throat. How profoundly can a woman love a man that the fear of death, of effervescent hearts, natural calamities and even a fear as trivial as changing seasons can occlude your breathing, hinder your living? I had once read somewhere that the way a man loves is different than a woman. A man is quick to fall in love and he either falls deeply in love or not; like an all or none situation. But for a woman in love, it’s anything but binary. It’s an expedition she embarks upon, one day at a time. Somedays in love, she delves deeper and deeper into an abyss of bittersweet mantle of love and in others, she holds herself back, lest her fragile heart is grappled with again. She waits quietly in
the rantings of solitude