Here’s this week’s Picture it & Write! I’m sorry I’m late!
Maybe I had noticed it too late.
The most dangerous thing about love was that it could deprive you of all your senses, all except the one deep inside of you: that of your heart. When trapped within its unyielding grasp, it would hug you so hard that you would feel the loud drumming of that central organ of yours; it would suffocate you and hypnotize you…
As I walked through the main corridor of the school, I could feel that danger roaming everywhere, from every dark corner to every shining lockers, banging as if to applaud the show. I have never really understood how could people stand it, embrace and kiss and…
How could they hold so much power inside and more importantly, how could they share it to someone else with so much force, without hurting the other? How could they express love so easily? How could they treat it with such ease? Maybe I was the one to be too weak.
Girls giggling, boys laughing… Moans from the toilets.
And lockers banging still.
Love was a power too strong. It could crush brains and tear hearts. It could make anyone his blind disciple, forever.
It would not get me, no, it wouldn’t.
So I continued my way, all stolid, followed the never-ending corridor, reaching out for my biology classroom…
A loud kiss on my right.
Then shouts and cries. Tears, possibly. On the left.
They break up, but then the guy does not mind. His anger quickly vanishes as his newly awakened senses caught sight of another girl… And his senses would be lost again into love.
Finally, I was not so sure.
Maybe that corridor, the life at school, all the drama, the… love relationships: they were all fake.
That was not love. Maybe infatuation, or lust… or whatever the cruelty of puberty could plant into our vulnerable teenage minds. But it was not love. Love was not so easily discarded or caught. Love was…
The most dangerous thing about love was that it was so subtle that it was hard for anyone of us to identify it.
Everything else was illusions, sinking into your mind and misleading you about love. Because in truth, love is cruel and mischievous. It is… bad. It plays with your feelings, your happiness… your whole perspective of life. It hurts.
Yes, most of all, it hurts. Then, it makes you so happy that you feel you have reached everything you have dreamt for. And you realise that everything you have dreamt for merely lay right in front of you the whole time.
But then, it crushes all of these thoughts with shadows… Merciless love. Agony of the soul.
And I saw none of all that as I walked on.
Still, the banging of lockers never stopped.
No, it would never stop. Not until the path was clear, out of danger.
But unfortunately for all of us, the most dangerous thing about love is that it simply never dies.
An Evil Nymph.
16 thoughts on “The Most Dangerous Thing About Love”
Something we are constantly reminded about, As we walk through the halls recalling all the sounds and memories.
Indeed. Thanks for reading Andy!
That takes me back! Good one!
love is like spinning around and around with your arms out, it makes your heart race and you feel the enjoyment untill you eventually become dizzy and can’t focus nor see clearly and the possibility that you could fall. (~_~)
There’s a young woman whose path often cross with mine at the bus stop, while we are waiting. She is sweet and soft-spoken and she never fails to greet me. Sometimes we talk about the weather, when the day is too cold to speak about other things, but I never dared to ask her name, although I long for knowing it.
I sense it’d be a musical name and delicate songs will have it in their lyrics, and if ever my shyness would be cornered or curiosity would subjugate me, I would hear an unusual name that would please me.
I know she feels safe by my side, because she always come smiling where I am and there she remains silent until the time to leave arrives. And I suspect part of her calm resides in my apparent indifference on conversations invaded with questions.
I am glad when she’s close and I like to watch her when she seems not to notice. And I love her stillness and her absent happiness that invited me to crave for her reserved friendship. And that’s maybe why, because her quiet charm is haunting me, I guess I never desireth her name.
Such is her charm as she now is, that I could not bear that, because of me, she could one day change.
This is beautiful and romantic. Less is more, I’d say – knowing less about her leaves her in a cloud of mystery and fascination… like the more it seems unattainable, the more we are attracted to it, charmed body and soul…
Very powerful! I loved the way you ended it. Love never dies. Usually a romantic idea, but you put a sinister edge to it. Fantastic! Also loved this description – ‘The most dangerous thing about love was that it could deprive you of all your senses, all except the one deep inside of you: that of your heart.’ Thanks for contributing this week to Picture it & write, M. D.! 🙂
Sometimes when I come back to my Picture it & Write contributions I wonder how I wrote like this! Your images are always so inspiring! Thank YOU 🙂
Great stuff Daphne, brought me right back to my high school days, and you are right, love and infatuation both did cause so much pain back then. You described it all so well 🙂
Thanks for sharing!
It’s been my pleasure 🙂
Aww those times, lockers 🙂 so nostalgic. Nice!
I found love once. It was just sitting on the bench at the bus stop and it thought no one would recognize it. You should have seen the look in its eyes when it saw me staring at it. It ran for its life and I chased it in hot pursuit down an alley, but I lost it again in all the rubbish at the end. I had to go back to catch the bus and I never saw love again.
This is very touching, Anne. Thanks for sharing this.