I Fell In Love With Parts

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I fell in love with parts of people. They weren’t something a fairy tale would mention, like the skin color of Snow White. They were just something usual, but something very special for me. For I attached memories to them, moments that I consciously filed in a part of my mind to remember again and again.

 

Once I fell in love with a guy’s hands. The way his hands looked compared to mine, so large, so different. And yet, somehow, when it came to filling the gaps between my fingers, his fingers were just perfect. The way he softly ran his hands through my hair when I would be upset and he was trying to soothe me. The way he grazed his fingers against my cheek, checking the softness, the tangibility, the reality of my being. The way his hands would hold my wrist, or rest on my shoulder, not protectively, not possessively but with the happiness of sharing himself with someone he loved. The way his hands explored every inch of my body with passionate, frenzied intensity. I fell in love with the hands that made me surrender my body and soul to them.

 

There was this girl, whose long legs were the envy of the town. They were not just strong and shapely, they were unafraid to conquer the world. She wore her scars like battle wounds. She told me with pride, ‘This one was when my stepfather pushed me off the stairs. This one from the time my abusive mother burned me with a hot spatula. This one when I fell from the tree. This one from when I fell from a higher branch.’ There was nothing that would stop her, and I fell in love with her courage. She was proud of how far she had come and she would never let anything stop her. And when her legs were tangled with mine, I felt like I could conquer the world too. She stepped over everything that had hurt her and she came out strong. I fell in love with the legs that crushed the world.

 

I fell in love with the way his lips formed words. His voice was enigmatic to me, its decibels sounding like waves of euphoria that crashed over my parched soul. Every word that dropped from his lips, made me sink deeper and deeper into the quicksand of his love. He would talk about how he loved his family, he would tell me how precious his friends were to him. And in the darkness of the night I would turn around and kiss those lips because there was only a certain amount of happiness my trodden soul could take at a time. As I would lie with my head on his chest, his soft breathing would wash me with happiness for I was so happy that someone like him existed. Despite all the people he had lost, his words were only about good things that would come by. Despite the bad times, all he looked forward to was the happy moments. I fell in love with the way his lips chose to find meaning in only the brightest things. I fell in love with the darkness that his tongue denied.

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More often than not, people fall in love with the idea of someone that they project over them. And the relationship is over the moment they realize that the person they had fallen in love with has changed. But nobody changed, because you fell in love with the idea of what they were. And once the illusion cleared away, you were disappointed that they weren’t good enough as your expectations. So, I guess I just fell in love with ideas, but I had no illusions. Ideas that I had formed of people because they filled the greys of the world with unimaginable colors. They might just have been misconceptions, but for brief moments I longed for those parts. And I did not want those parts to come together in one person and that person to be the epitome of all that perfection might seem to be. No, the mere imperfections of those parts were what I so longingly loved. It wasn’t that the complete person wasn’t enough, I just madly fell in love with those parts because they stirred up my being in ways that I hadn’t ever known. I chose something specific to appreciate in everyone I came across, even if the meaning attached to them was one of my own making. I romanticized people by their parts because I believed they were so much more than what they chose to appear as. Everyone is so much more than the five lines they would say when you would ask them to describe themselves. So I fell in love with pieces of personalities that were mine for the taking. I fell in love with parts for, as the poet, I chose to be those parts.

 


Image Courtesy: www.pixabay.com


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