Of Hearts

I look back and I remember how my friends once told me over a chilly morning in October at school, how I am the worst at drawing hearts. I remember them saying how the two halves never resembled each other enough to convince anyone that it was a heart. Symmetry, they said, wasn't my forte.
As I draw, erase, and re-draw the heart over n over again I realize there was only truth in their sentences. May be I did suck at drawing hearts, maybe I sucked at understanding them too. The mechanisms that make it work smooth? My body mostly doesn't like it.

Maybe I have too much of a rebellious soul, the thought of which fucks me up because I? I don't even understand half the things. I've never understood how love works. I've never even understood what constitutes love. How two people feel so deeply for each other that they not only understand each others reasons but also appreciate the quirks. Why two people voluntarily already being complete wholes themselves choose to join the commitment wagon with another person. Perhaps I'm just scared. Or perhaps I'm just mirroring what I draw- stupid unsymmetrical hearts that convince no one of their reality and existence. Perhaps love too, is not my forte.

To Exist or Live?

You and I? We share stories.
Someone else shares pieces of their heart with the only person in the world they want to be with at that moment, when there is a soft Bruno Mars song playing in the background on a cool October evening.

You and I? We feel happy at the sight of a puppy.
Someone else falls in love with every broken piece that their heart already is, on the sight of the furry canine that probably wags their tail and runs upto them with half bouncy steps.

You and I? We admire our better halves.
Someone else truly understands and appreciates the grace with which they accomplish even the simplest of tasks, like breathing.

You and I? We love how cool the weather feels.
Someone else probably gets drenched in the aroma that tells them that every little thing you're worrying about is going to be alright.

You and I? We hold hands.
Someone else realizes the vitality of that moment to his existence, how this is the one moment he'd give up anything to have again, how time is his enemy then.

You and I? We fail.
Someone else gets crushed under the heavy weight of the baggage they've been carrying all their lives in the hopes that this one success will aid them to gather enough courage to get rid of all the guilt they've been carrying for things that weren't even their mistakes in the first place.

You and I? We read
Someone else out there lives on it. He breathes in literature and chokes Everytime someone stop reading out a write up out loud.

You and I? We exist.
Someone else lives.