A self-fulfilling routine

Love is a funny thing. It fills you with hate sometimes. For yourself, not others. You see, love is an idea. Being a warm blanket of your own creation, the badass L-word tricks you into believing that you’re a needy creature. Consequentially, all the arrogance that you once so openly manifested goes into the drain. As quietly as possible—if you’re lucky enough. Your former belief that you’re emotionally sovereign doesn’t stand true either. Throughout, every idle second, you’re seeking a moment of respite with your beloved. Since accommodation and distance are issues you can’t fight anymore, you get a room for two in your head. You don’t do much though. Just lie with the side of your arms touching each other and stare at the ceiling. You can almost hear yourself breathe. You don’t even wish to say anything or whisper sweet nothings. Words can not only have a mind of their own but also deceive. It’s lot better to shut up and soak. You just stay put. This is the closest you get to becoming a film director! It’s a warm place to be. The only trouble being you don’t want to leave it but you’ll have to. If not now, then. Which will also mark the precise moment you’ll be hurt by the cold realities. Over a period of time, you'll be immune to the grief that this solace eventually presents you. As a result, you’ll continue to escape to that magical room with no walls or windows but only a ceiling to look up at. Don’t worry. Your sanity won’t be affected. Only your insanity is at risk. In the grand scheme of things, you fell for someone only to lie down again and again. It's obvious that you are addicted to the idea, sweetheart. You’re officially ruined.