this.is.not.for.you.

As she fights the rising bile in her throat, she takes a deep breath and controls the urge to call up her friendly neighborhood psychiatrist. She tastes a tiny bit of vomit in her mouth and reaches for her pack of cigarettes, hoping to puff away the seemingly psychotic delusions in her cluttered little mind and praying to some divine being that the nicotine she inhales would have some prophylactic effect on her self-diagnosed mental and emotional dilemmas. She would very much rather entertain thoughts of diabolical intercessions and inexplicable neurosis and could visibly picture herself strapped in a straight-jacket and locked up in a padded room than acknowledge this peculiar feeling of … of adoration, affection, passion and any other permutation of the aforementioned emotions for another human being.

Because as she wakes up in the morning, her first thought of the day is YOU. You who makes her heart beat faster and slower at the same time. You who somehow and in some bizarre way makes her feel whole and complete. You who randomly pops into her inexperienced anarchic head during the day… YOU… yes, you…

You who makes her think that she has a heart after all… that it beats for a reason. You who makes her happier than usual… and makes her want to devote her time, her effort, her whole self to making you feel the same. You who makes her believe that there is some unwritten and unspoken prophecy that this is not just another chance encounter… that by some stroke of luck or holy providence you brighten her otherwise melancholic existence.

With every single day that passes, she thanks every single saint, angel, cherub and other supernatural ethereal deities for making your paths cross.

 

SHE LIKES YOU. For the person that you are and not for the person you want to mold yourself to be. she doesn’t just like you because of your eyes or your smile or the rippling biceps that have magically developed under precise training programs. she likes the way you look at her and tell her she’s pretty even when she knows she looks like an eloctrocuted medusa with inundated sweat glands, bad hair and volcanic zits. she likes the way you smile at her from across the room or tell her she looks hot even when she’s just wearing her ratty old jeans and a shirt. she likes it when after a long day, you put your arms around her and tell her you miss her.

 

clothes or cars or money or muscles do not define masculinity. it’s when you open the car door for her, or hold her hand when you walk, or rub her tummy when it aches or when you talk to her about your day and when you listen (or at least pretend to be minutely interested) to her talk about how she chipped a nail, or how she did her laundry or the kinda retarded dreams she had last night…stuff that may seem insignificant compared to the problems of pollution and poverty… but really, she just wants to share her life with you… even to the tiniest detail… to her, a guy doesn’t need guns, or knives, or six-pack abs to be called a real man… a real man makes a woman feel wanted, needed or maybe even loved…

 

you don’t know it but when you do all of these, she smiles inwardly and thanks her lucky stars because while most girls dream of finding their knight-in-shining armor, she has met her guy-in-branded-sneakers. and she likes the fact that you’re insanely nice because most of the guys in her past are barbaric, retarded, pompous, self-absorbed war freaks who think that mother earth and all living entities should revolve around them. And jerks of such nature are likely to think that she is just another female with an accessible cervix… but she’d like to think that that you don’t see her as such… that you like her for who she really is and not for what she can do to satisfy any penile appetite. She adores the way you talk, and the way you scratch your head when you’re confused, and she laughs at your jokes even when she doesn’t get the punchline. and nowadays, you are the reason behind the smile that she puts on her face… just so you know. 🙂

 

She likes you enough because apparently, SHE CARES FOR YOU. Even when you get the tiniest scratch or the smallest of sniffles, she starts to wish for superhuman powers to make you feel better and usurp your pain. For every time you get home late or forget to eat a meal, a fine line of wrinkle develops on her twenty-something face. Or when you have a bad day at work or when you just don’t feel well, she wants to fly or teleport herself to wherever you are and give you a huge fat hug and hope to make your boo-boo’s go away. As a childless female, she has the current inclination to divert her maternal instincts towards the people she cares about. And these days, her focus is on you.

 

SHE WANTS YOU. She wants you like she has never wanted anyone else. she wants you… just you… and she wants you to understand that you don’t have to prove anything because she likes just the way you are…

 

And just in case it isn’t obvious yet, in case you haven’t noticed — she is willing to take a backseat to everything and everyone else in your life because she understands that these things and those people make you who you are. but she wants you to realize, that at the end of the day, she is like every other girl… she just wants to feel, even in the lowest degree, that every thing she does is appreciated… and that YOU appreciate HER…

 

And as she exhales the last of the deathly fumes of tobacco, she concludes that she has a few loose screws in her head. For the life of her, she cannot explain the concurrent emotions of confusion and affection. You have dragged her out of her scornful stupor and thrown her into the pits of chaotic bliss.

 

and she finally surrenders… it is possible. because you make it possible… she is happy. and she is happy because of you. 🙂

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