Everyone wants to be in love. They long for the
feeling. They search for it, claim to have found it, even lie about feeling it.
But deep down, they know, they never truly felt it. How could they? They haven’t
the first clue what love feels like. All they know is they want to feel it.
Isn’t that strange? An elusive emotion that we never truly recognize but one
that we long for with such unbridled passion. Perhaps there’s an evolutionary
desire to find a suitable mate that drives us to vehemently seek out that
feeling of “love”. Although, I prefer not to cloud romance with scientific
rationale. I enjoy romanticising the idea of finding love. But
can love truly be found? Every mushy Romcom, sentimental Bollywood drama and
Disney princess love story tends to agree. Some showcase love as something that
develops gradually across a montage. Some insert violinists in the centre of
the scene. Some go so far as to have montage guided by a song finishing in a
crescendo of fireworks to display love in all its glory. We trust every
version of it. It sets expectations. Then raises them. Then takes them to
towering heights that could trigger acrophobia. Can love in real-life meet the lofty
expectations set by love in reel-life?
The story I’m about to share with you takes
place at a time unblemished by the raging pandemic. In a world where a
handshake is acceptable, a hug is encouraged, and a kiss is yearned for. It
begins with a kiss. A long, wet, passionate kiss. One that starts soft then
builds momentum. There’s a gentle brushing of the lips followed by a seamless decision;
she takes the upper while you ever so delicately suck on her lower lip. She
likes it. Her tongue greets you. Beckons you inside. Your own tongue obliges.
There is electricity in the air. A light lashing of tongues. A lip-lock that
grows tighter. You feel the passion building up. You suck on her lower lip –
harder this time. She matches your intensity. Your palms grab her face, while her
own pull you closer. The electricity has progressed into a lightning storm. Your
lips want nothing more than to stay locked with hers. There’s a drumroll building
up in your mind. It grows louder as she kisses you harder. It builds up to a
crescendo. Then, there’s a moment of absolute silence. Just a single moment. It’s
like that brief moment of levitation when you jump off a diving board and gravity
hasn’t quite grasped you. All that matters is her. Her face, her lips. Her beautiful,
tender lips. You feel connected. You are hers and she is yours. The world around
you disappears. Blank. Soft. Wet. Silent. Blank. And you snap back to reality
as your lips disengage. Wow, right?
That, my friends, is the perfect kiss. If you
feel differently, you’re delusional. What comes after the perfect kiss, though?
What happens after you snap back to reality? The electricity dissipates. You
face your kisser. You feel strongly about her. Not as strongly as in that
single silent moment before your lips disengaged. Still, quite strongly. But is
that enough? Not quite. But you stay. You stay because you hope to recreate that
paradisaical moment all over again. Your lips touch once more. Just for a brief
second. Then she smiles. A radiant smile. You reciprocate. Not quite as
radiant. But she stays. Why? What makes her stay? Is it the same moment? Are we
looking for the same thing? Is that what all relationships are about?
Recreating that perfect moment of bliss as many times as we can until we cannot.
What happens when we cannot? The perfect kiss is perfect just once. Maybe
twice. The third time, it’s a third kiss. The novelty is lost. But you still
yearn for that moment. You both do. So, you escalate.
You take her to bed. She makes no effort to
hide her eagerness. You lie on your back. The mattress is soft. You thank the
heavens for memory foam. She climbs on top of you. It’s dark. The diffused
light from a window left ajar illuminates her silhouette. Its breath-taking.
Her lips find yours and the drumroll begins. Muffled this time. It’s the second
kiss. You need something more. You run your hand along the contours of her
body. Her back arches ever so slightly. She presses up against you. The
drumroll intensifies. You begin to unbutton her blouse, your fingers moving nimbler
than ever. She breaks the lip lock. But the sparks continue to fly. She starts
to undo your shirt. After the first two buttons, she doesn’t bother. Her
deceptively delicate hands rip your shirt open. Your body responds with
excitement. She goes ahead and takes her bra off herself and moves your palms
onto her supple breasts. Your lips meet once again. Gentility is non-existent. You
bite down on her lower lip. She responds appropriately. Her hands deftly
unbuckle your trousers and reach inside. A chill rushes down your spine. You
arch upwards welcoming the intrusion.
She takes you inside her. Surrounds you. You feel
her warmth. Your hands move down and grab her ass. She presses down stronger. You
squeeze harder. She reaches for your lips once more. There’s no drumroll. There’s
an ensemble. Your bodies move together in rhythm. There is electricity once again.
Maintaining momentum, you drop her on her back and get on top. She wraps her
legs around you as you move in deeper. Every successive thrust is harder than
the last. She moans. Her fingers feel cold as they run the expanse of your back.
You thrust harder still. Her fingers dig in. You feel a sharp pain. You welcome
it. Your mind is walking the tightrope between pain and rapture. You confidently
maintain composure. She moans louder. Your mouth finds her shapely neck. You
lick off glistening beads of sweat. You feel dirty. But that feels good. She
seems to like it. She shoves your face further in. You oblige. The ensemble
grows louder. It rises to a roaring intensity before erupting into the moment
of release. The moment that you both longed for. The reason for this madness. The
ever so important moment of bliss. And you snap back to reality, lying beside
each other, panting.
The storm of passion that your two created recedes
into the darkness. It’s replaced by a sense of calm. You’re exhausted. There is
no motivation to carry out a conversation. She seems to feel the same. Her
panting softens until it becomes a light snore. What do you do? What should you
do? The moment is over. Do you leave? Perhaps. So why does it feel wrong to do
so? What’s stopping you from getting out of that bed? The moment has passed but
your mind urges you to stay. You give in and pass out.
The next morning, the fresh smell of coffee wakes
you up. You see a blurry figure sat next to you. It takes time for your eyes to
get accustomed to the light before they finally open all the way. She is sat
next to you, coffee mug in hand and a radiant smile splashed across her face.
You smile back. Not nearly as radiant. She says hi. Your mind goes blank.
Silent. Blank. There’s that moment again. That’s what your mind urged you to
stay for. Aren’t you glad you did?
Maybe that’s it. Every relationship is a
pursuit of the next moment of bliss. You fall in love simply when those moments
show up more often. The longing gets shorter and the moments grow longer until there are just those moments of bliss in every second of every day. I like to think that’s the
ultimate form of Love.
