I remember a night when we walked under the stars. We talked of love. You had been its victim and I was a dreamer seeking adventure. You said that you had parcelled your heart up in a cage, put it on a train and you were running as fast as you could in the opposite direction. You didn’t care where you were heading as long as it was as far as possible from the pain and chaos of love.
I begged you to reconsider.
I told you that love was the most exquisite drug, the only high worth chasing. You said it was like heroine, a temporary fix that would wreck destruction upon my world.
I said love was the air in my lungs and its breath set me free. You replied it was the sickness consuming us from within.
I thought love was the divine spark that set our souls on fire. You told me it was it was an inferno that burnt everyone to ash.
‘That’s your pain talking,’ I whispered. ‘It doesn’t have to end like that.’
‘Love is pain. There is no alternative ending.’
‘I can’t believe that.’
‘You will. One day you will.’
‘Love is worth the sacrifice.’
‘You don’t know what you are talking about.’
‘Then show me’
‘You don’t want that. I don’t want that.’
‘You don’t want me.’
‘You have no idea,’ you sighed.
‘You don’t want to believe that I love you.’
‘You love the idea of love.’
‘You love pushing me away’.
‘I’m saving you from yourself.’
‘I don’t need your protection.’
‘If only that were true.’
‘Why are you being like this?’
‘Love did this. I’m trying to stop it doing the same to you.’