DON’T LISTEN TO SAD SONGS

I know you know this. But can’t help yourself on a night like this, when Whitney makes perfect sense. Everyone falls in love sometimes. And you don’t have to plan it either, don’t have to enter it into your schedule so your phone can beep at 6:32pm: ‘Hey, hey! It’s time to fall in love.’ No. Some people walk straight in, no knocking. You know that right?

The ones that take the seat next to you, just as the lecture is about to start, and leave the second it ends. And you think nothing of it. Not even when it happens again the next day. And on the third day, your pen stops midway, out of ink, it’s the only reason you turn to ask if she has a spare. She’s pretty. You take her pen politely, flash a smile, and by the time you return it have found the courage to say – My name is Dike, by the way.

The ones you become friends with in that random way life likes to create order. So you’ve been bumping into each other for a while now - going in opposite directions at the door to the library, finishing your meal as she’s walking into the canteen – but when you meet again at the tuck shop, you linger there, this time, and talk. Then find out you’re heading the same way. So you walk along, this time, and talk. And when you get to the junction where the path splits, you linger there some more. And talk. Till, one day, you get there when the shadows are long, and are still standing there when the moon comes out.

Tell me, when did you fall in love? It’s like trying to see the sun set, trying to mark the exact second when dusk becomes night, or dawn becomes day, like trying to draw a straight line just there where the waves pause then begin their retreat. For now you think of her as soon as you turn away; the moment your hands unclasp - not a second more - you begin to miss her. It is a dull ache, sometimes, when the time between now and next time seems infinite; and then, at the oddest times, a lunatic surge of pure excitement - you think of her and gasp.

But she is your friend. Do you know what I mean? She will rest her head on your shoulder and cry her eyes out for the one she loves who will not love her back. How do you interrupt her? How do you interrupt this perfect evening of suya and warm coke to say your heart is beating way too fast? So, you don’t. But she notices and cannot understand it, the way you keep looking away, how you laugh but no longer into the full length of that carefreeness she desperately wants to share with you. So, she tells you to tell her. One night, she begs you to tell her - Who is this girl that is breaking your heart?

So you tell her. I am in love with you. And when you see her face fall, you scramble to add – But it’s okay. I’ll get over it. And it makes her smile again, tentatively. And you know in your heart – watching her smile tentatively - that you will never see her smile completely again. I tell you, no two feet can be as heavy as these, the ones that have to carry you away from the scene of a broken heart; oxygen punched out of both lungs, hurting in that place that has no definition.

On that night, do not listen to sad songs, my friend. And when you lie down and, after a while, begin to hear it, that voice that likes to whisper on repeat – you will never find love, you will never find love, you will never find love – yes, you may allow it to make you cry. But while at it, gulp down a breath or two as well, and say it out loud – ‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ For these things, you see, will always pass.

Images taken from:

http://www.360nobs.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/04/falling-in-love3.jpg

http://recoverysociety.org/wp-content/uploads/2014/10/dealing-with-heartbreak.jpg