What is it like to love someone?

To love a person, a human, an enigma, an existence, a physical embodiment of twin flame, clusterfuck of atoms, is to feel everything on the surface and observe the rippling emotions, intricate patterns of waves. I do not know how it would feel like to be in love with someone, to understand their depths of despair and miseries and tantrums or getting yourself drenched in the current. What I do know, is the ways of loving someone from the surface.

To love someone is to fight for them. Fight fight fight. Fight the voices in your head saying they’re going to hurt you, fight every words that slip from people mouths, fight the person you love themselves, fight your fucking huge ego and pride. Swallow every ounce of your beliefs on love. I know this because many times I have told myself that the difference it would make if I could go all the way to the war field and fight for him to stay I could make it lasts. But to love someone is to swallow bitter truths, too. If the person you’d wage wars for won’t pick up a sword for you then they do not want to be fought for. Listen to their voices. I was never Joan of Arc for you or anyone at all.

To love someone is to go all the way out of your comfort zone for them, to meet them out of your circle. To print paperworks for them on your laziest days and send it to their home. Or bawl your eyes out on a Sunday night in front of your parents, asking them to drive you to his house because he downed 37 Panadols and you can’t stop crying. Fight the very person you love too, as they told you not to come for them. Fight your dad because he can’t stop yelling. Hating the anxiousness of being in the Uber at 11:00 p.m. just to see them in the ungodly light of McDonalds, hear their laughs at ungodly hours of the day. Bracing yourself to ask them out on the last day of Ramadhan even if you hate the idea of awkward silences and secretly taken photos while they sip on their Coke,

To love someone is to not be scared. I wouldn’t say to love someone is to be brave because bravery is an existence to be fulfilled. It is enough to be devoid of fear and no courage to be spoken of. Without fears, be vulnerable and tell them your parents never cared in the right ways. Yet I do not know how not to be therefore my love is a defect.

To love someone is to comfort them on nights when they can’t even breathe in. Call them up only to listen to static silence on your end, understand that they’re unable to reciprocate the words you gushed, “Are you alright? Are you feeling okay? Hey, I understand you feel bad but…” and you are armed with ways to say all the things you think would put them at ease. Perhaps you never even understood but you love them, therefore you feel. Never leaving them alone because you know you don’t want to feel that way. Keep the words over their silence is love in its most unadulterated form.

To love someone is the wrenching longing deep in your heart whenever you’re in foreign lands, devoutly wishing they were there with you because all the places were so poetic and you want them to see the loveliness of this cruel world too. Play tourists as we kiss in each scene so it’ll hurt just a little bit more every time you visit.

To love someone is the act of writing to them even long after they stopped to read what you wrote, when they do not care anymore but you continue to write letters and paragraphs for them in case they miss your words, your thoughts or any pieces of you, that is. Listening to the playlist you made for them, wondering all night if they’re still listening to every words you tried conveying. It’s the never ending dreams you get because you keep chanting their name in your wake and you cannot stop even when you sleep you can’t breathe. You can’t breathe. It hurts.

To love someone is the rerun of all the good things they have done for you before you fell apart thinking if that wasn’t love then you’ll never know what love is. You watch the rain fall in the evening, you stare into the Sun until you’re half blind, falling steps on the commuter train because you thought someone else was him and nothing change no matter how hard you cried. It ended and your vision is a fucking fabricated memory yet you cling on to it like nothing else in this world matter.