When you are not fed love on a silver spoon, you learn to lick it off knives.

-Lauren Eden

Okay now, I have a problem with this.

You see,

I have been loved,

I have shared love.

Product of a love marriage,

I have seen love with its hardships and sacrifices.

I am the god’s child,

Luck always works in my favour,

I know what it is to feel blessed.

Raised in a joint family as the youngest member,

I have felt loved, 

Enough to actually spoil me.

I have never been socially awkward,

Conversations came easily to me,

So did people.

I have been understood,

I have been appreciated,

I have been valued,

I have been loved.

Silver spoon? 

No no, love was served to me in tons of silverware,

Filled to their brims,

And still, I search for more.

Why?

Desperate?

Ungrateful? 

Crazy? 

I don’t mind if you call me these names,

Because I too do that, seldom. 

I am desperate, 

for craving for more love.

I am ungrateful, 

for not celebrating the love I already have.

I am crazy, 

for trying to find love in all the wrong places.

Is it hidden in the sly smirk on your pale face?

Is it lost in the creases of your unmade off-white bedsheets?

Is it fading away with the water running down your back into the drain?

Oh my god, wait when did I start writing poetry on my imaginary lover? Scratch that please.

You see, I have done my research on love.

The books said,

It is nothing like what I have in my life.

This sweet love I have been fed is not what I read it is supposed to be like.

There is no excitement in it,

No thrill,

No butterflies,

That love is safe,

But I don’t want safe.

I want unpredictable, 

Enthralling,

Formidable, 

Maddening,

Exhilarating, 

Consuming 

Love. 

The protagonist in the movie found it!

So must I!

Some of us,

No actually, most of us

Don’t dream of sleeping on a soft bed and eating off of a silver spoon,

We choose the stoney floors that hurt your back and knives that cut your tongue

Because we often confuse love with pain, struggle, destruction.

I guess its the dramatic representation of love on the big screens and stained pages of our novels to be blamed.

I dont blame myself,

You shouldn’t blame yourself either.

For we were told the colour of love is red.

Red.

Vibrant, alarming, dangerous red.

But the truth is, love is blue.

Blue.

Calming, peaceful, benign blue.

It will take a while to unlearn all the crap movies and novels have fed me about love being enthralling, formidable, maddening, exhilarating, consuming.

Because the love I have seen first hand, is wholesome, safe, gentle, serene, soothing.

And trust me, at some point you too will be fed love;

Pure, innocent, fulfilling love

That too, on a silver spoon.

I promise.