The voice in your head sings a Bonnie Raitt classic in Justin Vernon’s voice. You didn’t like it, didn’t want it, didn’t fight it. Sometimes, it seems like, to ask how can love both be the boon and bane of your existence is rhetorical, or maybe even pointless. That at the beginning, when everything is all coated with sugar and where rainbows never disappear, that sense of euphoria can easily be thwarted by a sudden realization that he does not love you back.
He does not love you back.
And funny how these realizations present themselves in forms that might seem too trivial at first when you think about it. Say, a girl holding his hand. And him holding it back. They glance at each other, and you know that unmistakable look of love to ever suggest otherwise. You know it, because that’s how you look at him.
He does not look back.
You read Conchitina Cruz. It dawns upon you that every word that she ever written is like salt on your wound. But you read them anyway until they hurt you so much, so much you get numbed by the pain. Your fear of writing your own words and reading them back to yourself feels like a betrayal. You’d rather read your feelings from someone else’s words. The weight of yours are unbearable. Why? Because then your pain would not be fiction.
Your pain isn’t fiction.
You only hope that time does it job and fly. Until the past gets behind you, wears you out, and ceases to hurt you.
Hurt. Hurt. Hurt.
How do you stop pursuing the love that evades you? You see the glaring evidence of the absence of reciprocity. The thrill of the chase is now completely gone. Your dreams and hopes and chances have reached their deadlock. There are no detours, no once-overs, no starting over again. You just get through it. Probably with lots of liquor and sob writing. Like this one.
Exactly like this one.
You see him again. The distance between you is what keeps you apart. Always. You can utter any word, and he wouldn’t hear. The wind will carry those words far away. But no matter. You’ll say them anyway.
And this is what you say:
“How do I unlove you?”