Jump!

Have you ever stood at the edge of a cliff, poised to that that step forward?

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Have you ever stood at the edge of a cliff, poised to take that step forward, wanting to plunge into the magnificent blue ocean below. It beckons to you, the ocean, with its never ending vastness and the sun bouncing off its surface, leaving stars in its wake. Have you ever stood at that cliff until your desire to jump becomes a chant in your head – “Jump. Jump. Jump.” – and you want to. So bad. Especially because even amidst the deafening roar of the water and the voices in your head coming from all sides, even then, you can differentiate the voice that spins your desire, urging you on. Coaxing you into the beautiful water. Enticing you with the feeling you get from its nearness, standing on that cliff, poised to take that step forward and above all, wanting it too.
The thing about the ocean is, It’s deep and deadly, full of hidden secrets. For a few seconds there, you’re buoyant and floating, happy with the feeling. Then, you sink. The water pulls you below, until it surrounds you and it’s all you can see. You loose control over your own limbs and all you can do is gasp and flail for all that its worth. It’s everywhere. Burning in your throat, filling your lungs, pressing your limbs down. You struggle to stay afloat but the way to the surface seems impossible to cover. There comes a point that you can’t even remember what it was like to feel actual air in your lungs, to see without the itchiness in your eyes, to hear anything other than the roar of pressure in your ears. It builds up until you give up, you give up and the ocean lets you fall. It lets you fall and buries you in its store of treasures, or of ruins. Another one that fell for its calm demeanor above, for the feeling it made them feel. Another casualty of blind, hopeful faith.
So, have you stood at the edge of a cliff, poised to take that step forward, wanting to plunge. Have you stood at the edge of a cliff until your desire to jump becomes a chant in your head. When you do, and darling, one day yes you will; Don’t.

Believed?

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The first time you told me you loved me, I didn’t even know what that meant. For me, it was safety and cuddles and someone who’d get me chocolates when I scraped my knees and give me their toys when I got tired of mine. I was the girl dancing, with big eyes and stars within; And, I believed you.

Fast forward a few years on, too fast we discover death together. We grow up, we lose our best friend. The world is an abstract of emotions, fleeting. So much so, that the only thing that seems familiar, seems safe, is you. You tell me you love me, even through my hysterics and sedatives, even as scared as you were yourself. Barely a boy; But, I believed you.
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The year you left, I remember staring up at the night sky, a budding teenager desperately searching for answers beyond her age. Even then, I remember hearing your voice through the haze surrounding me. Even then I remember the conviction of the thought that you were out battling demons and that you were one who’d come back at least. Barely a memory; Still, I believed you.

 

I hadn’t cried for two days even amidst all the others mourning. You didn’t have to do anything, just sit by my side to let me lower my walls, to let me break down. You were shaking even as you tried to grip me, as if you could physically pull all the pieces together. You were silent even as you saw me suddenly smile and smooth my face over no matter how disapproving the look on your own face. Your eyes told me stories of galaxies of refuge, of strength and reluctant pride. Barely a feeling; Though, I believed you.

 

When I first read The Notebook, you were Noah for me. I should have realized then that we were doomed. When you told me you loved me, I laughed. You told me again, and I started thinking ‘maybe’. Come eighth time and slowly, I let myself love you. Let myself listen to you. Let myself acknowledge what you could be to me. Barely a thought; However, I believed you.

 

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They thought we were too perfect for such young an age.
Nice now meant giving too much, a noose around your neck. Forever sort of love sounded like you were suffocating.
Your friends wanted you to be there on the other side smoking pot instead of entertaining the wide eyed girl with her irrational love for ice cream.
Your breath now stank of iridescent lies and dangerous highs.

 

The last time you told me you loved me; I stopped believing in love.

.Multiverse.

 

Michelangelo PietaWhen someone we love dies, a part of us dies along with them but unlike the physical remains of that said person that we bury deep in the ground – unlike every other living thing that dies – we do not bury this part but rather, carry it with us, a constant bearing on our being for the rest of our lives.

In the 1890s, William James came up with the theory about “the multiverse”. Every once in a while, the dead part inside takes over the rest of our heart and makes us think about the hypothetical set of multiple universes comprising everything that can possibly exist simultaneously. Teasing the idea of an alternative life, a different fate. It spreads like darkness, snuffing the light out, making us question our entire existence, making us resemble our dear departed loved ones as best as we can; Turning us into a false rendition of corpses, dead in all sense but talking, breathing and in a manner of speaking, alive.

The darkness is tempting, a way to be close to the loved ones that have left us, a way to keep them alive by losing ourselves in their grief, losing ourselves with them. Some strong people though resist it, making its reign last only for some time, fighting with it every day, breathing life into the living corpse, a little more everyday using its battle within as a driving force to honour the people lost in the best way possible. Those people are few though and with good reason. The hardest part in the world is to let go of all the possibilities that could be and that is actually what is the worst. Waking up everyday and thinking about the future we were cheated of. The could have been’s.

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So I think of William James’ theory; The entirety of space, time, matter and energy all happening at once in different timelines. Parallel universe with all the what ifs and the could have been’s. So let’s presume that idea is real. Then maybe, in those infinite universes is one, or more, where you stay. Maybe there is a universe out there, happening right now where we stay at home that day, where my last words to you don’t haunt me forever, where I don’t lose you. A universe in which, when I close my eyes at night, I’m not dreaming about what could be but rather as a normal person would, about outrageous fairytales and handsome princes without the sadness that exists in everything now, even the happy times.

Maybe that’s what I see. The flashes of our life in the multiverse. They are not simple dreams you see; They are scientific, anachronistic visions. After all, we shared a womb so what’s to say we don’t share flashes of life across universes. I wish you could see me in this one though. Miss you best friend.

“There’s no love like the first.”

Rosemary Rogers said, First romance, first love, is something so special to all of us, both emotionally and physically, that it touches our lives and enriches them forever.

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First loves are as sweet as they are unexpected. They make us vulnerable even while they make us feel as if we are invincible giving us a strength to match the riding high of emotion. It connects with the deepest, most sensual areas of the brain conforming its paradigms to that experience.

Memories of first love are always tumultuous.  Very few experiences in our lives are as intense and overwhelming. They come to us at a time when we are emotional virgins and take us by surprise. There is no warning, no foreword, and no experience to counter the onslaught of emotions that become us. They shape our perspective about the affair and define love for us in a way that stays with us even in the future when we have more hindsight. George Bernard Shaw held that first love is a little foolish and a lot of curiosity. This might be true as in a lot of cases. First loves, by design, usually don’t last. It could be that they mostly happen at times when parental pressure, peer pressure, academic stresses, societal obligations etc. play an important role in our life. Most people, when reunited with their first loves, their couple doesn’t last which proves that most probably it’s the high of the feeling that makes the experience so unforgettable.

Psychologists compare first loves to ‘Imprinting’ which, in Biology is the biological bond made by living beings in a sensitive period of their life. Ducklings for example, start following whatever moving object they see after hatching. They relate this theory of imprinting to humans in such a way, saying that adolescence is that sensitive period for all of us and we imprint to the one who gives us importance and center our entire life around them. This however, is countered by the study that not everyone experiences first love in this period of their life. Also, with the fact that not everyone is strung up on this bond as others. Some people are happy to move on from the feeling, chalking it up as a learning experience. It’s not that these people did not experience the same; just that they let it go. That is where we have the power, the choice to hold on to it and desensitize the experience or to keep the magic inside us forever and let it go. The power to grow magnificent wings; and fly…

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Whatever the case with first loves might be, whether it happens after a string of lovers at the age of thirty or as a virgin at fifteen, they consume you and no matter how much time passes, they stay with you even when you don’t care anymore. You might fall in love again and be very happy about it but there is something about the innocence of discovering the art of living for others for the very first time that marks you deeper than anything else has the power to do so. They take us to a time when the world was spread before us for us to explore and we thought anything was possible. It’s love in its unadulterated form. It might not last forever, it might not withstand the trials of time or be ever growing but in a moment of time, it is our whole world and in that moment, we are infinite.