I love you to the extent that it pinches me to actually think about all the compromises I have to make.
I love you to the point of no return, standing at the crossroads, questioning my choices.
Questioning my choice to be with you, even after all the pain your actions have caused me, the actions of yours that are so silly in retrospect.
Your innocence bemuses me, I find it lovable that in your age, you have it in you to be so naive.
To love so unconditionally, without reason or expectation and seek acceptance within the boundaries of that love you’ve given, never expecting to receive yet hoping to get validation from your flesh and blood.
Sometimes you make me envy your flesh and blood, you know why? It is because you are exactly the kind of human being that people want to be related to by blood.
You value your flesh over everything and everybody else, so here I am, thinking blood is thicker than water, and perhaps even though your body and mine have been entwined as one, intricately laced, exchanging DNA and body heat, our genes still can’t merge.
We’re so close yet so far, for you and I aren’t the same flesh and blood, and that is what sets us apart. Perhaps some day, you’ll realize that my love for you has been viscid – thicker than the heavy air that surrounds us in our deforested city, thicker than the blood you vouch for, sturdier than the saddlery you use, warmer than a drop of golden sun on a chilly afternoon in Lahore.
Until then, I lay in bed – a tear resting on my cheek, thinking of the abundance of a love so profound, going to waste.