Love Him Like I Do




I had my eyes set upon you since the day I first saw you. You were one of those popular guys everyone in college had to know – not that I minded.

 

You were so effortlessly sweet and polite; it often made me wonder if it was all a façade. How can someone be so generous and smart at the same time? But all my logic took for a spin around you. You made me realise that my theory about basic human behaviour might be flawed.

 

I had taken it upon myself to woo you, quite the other way round it was for us, wasn’t it, love? I couldn’t have thanked my fortune enough times when you had said yes to my proposal. Why would a guy like you love a person like me – demented and flawed in my own unique way?

 

But as the years passed by, I could feel you getting deeper and deeper into it – maybe even deeper than I was. I couldn’t have been happier.

 

I was never happy again.

 

Why is it that life decides to fuck you up when everything is fine? When the doctors told us that I had only a few months left, all I could think was, “Not now, not now, not ever.”

 

The idea of death was terrifying, but more so was the thought of leaving without you. How could I?

 

I had so much more to live for.

 

You.

 

You.

 

You.

 

Who else if not you?

 

I had always had a very clear opinion of myself.

 

I wasn’t perfect. My flaws stood out in broad daylight as well as in the dark. Why else would you think people kept asking you reasons for being with me?

 

“Is it because she is so beautiful?”

 

“Is it because she is so smart?”

 

Well, they could see things you could not. Love was a veil you could not keep away.

 

Now love, when they show dying people in movies and books, impending death is always accompanied by a change of heart, a selfless act or a long awaited confession.

 

When I was dying, I experienced none.

 

Instead, I spent my days thinking of ways to take me with you.

 

I was obsessed with the idea of killing you.

 

For how long would you have mourned for me?

 

A month? A year?

 

And then a girl luckier than me would have held your hand, she would have kissed your lips and caressed your hair. She would have lived longer, she could have had your children and you would have aged with her while I watched you enviously from nowhere.

 




And I was having none of it.

 

I couldn’t see you with another person. Not even after I died.

 

So that afternoon while I was still healthy enough to walk on my own, I didn’t think twice before grabbing the kitchen knife and shoving it down your stomach, again and again.

 

I trailed right behind you love, believe me. I did not waste a single second in doing what I could.

 

And that’s all because I love you.

 

I always will.

 

Whether you like it or not.

 


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