Chutney

I don't know how it started.

If one were look back upon things, it's hard to pinpoint when everything went from simple looks of adoration to a universe of complex chaos and destruction. I could tell you that this is when I looked the other way and this is when she fell for him instead, but hearts do not know calendars. They do not understand expiry dates and time bombs.


They do, however, understand sleepless nights.

In the middle of those nights, I have questioned myself. There have been an overwhelming number of times when I've wondered if PTSD could manifest in somebody as a result of a knife in the back - a multiplicity of knives. I'd laugh at the possibility of that. You see, if Homer acknowledged the burning human desire to constantly psychoanalyze our misfortunes and transform them into magnified tragedies, wouldn't wars seem petty affairs?

The thing is, war and love are not so dissimilar, especially when it comes to short sightedness. What is it about being involved with somebody that makes us so myopic? I wake up, each day with a different resolve. I stir my coffee. I see her face in the froth of milk and stir faster. But if it were your face, I'd linger. Later in the day, with a steady stream of water pouring over my head, I'd recall the way you looked at her. The same way you look at me.

There goes my resolve.

How do I get over it? I try. I decide to stop drinking coffee altogether. I try to derive pleasure at the expense of their cheap misfortunes. I abhor their existence. I cannot stand yours either. I'll deal with their existence. I love you so. I try to end things. I try to not make anyone choose. It all works like a bandaid to a missing limb. Sometimes, I forget and in that temporary amnesia, I find bliss. Sometimes, I rant and rave to myself like a madwoman searching for solace in the trap of her own mind. When did they all become such a huge part something that was meant just for the two of us?

Maybe we're born out of conflict. Maybe we don't understand how unfair it is to love yet not be in love. Would you rather stay? As long as the other does. Until all the self righteous voices in our heads tell us not to; voices we'd either shush down or perk up our ears to. But no matter what happens, there is one thing we both agree on.

Our feelings make us a little crazy.