The next time I fall in love, I shall do some things differently. That is, given there is love to jump into in the first place. It had come to my notice how little the chances were and how it was a matter of random luck. Love was not clay; we could not mould it through a nudge, a push now and then. Love was like water; it flowed when it wanted to, in the way it wished to, and when it had to leave, it tore through rocks; your walls to keep it in did not stand a chance. Your walls to keep it out did not stand a chance either. So, I have now left my wall halfway. It was a fool’s errand to even build it. But I have kept the little I managed to make before this little epiphany—not as a blockade, but a reminder. The next time I fall in love, I will let it flow. I will give it way to arrive, and I will give it way to leave.
The next time I fall in love, however, I will be tired. I will be cautious, and I know this ahead of time. It was good to know or at least have an inkling about how we may act in a situation before it arrives. But I will not plan. You could not plan around love. It was the one thing I could take away from my escapades with it. I could not make a to-do list of things to do, no calendar was good enough, and truth be told, that was the better part as I’m learning now. As much as we know when the sun usually sets, it is the unexpected glimpse of one that we remember. Love was like the sunset in that regard. You caught a glimpse of it. You sat across from them, perhaps as they stared across at the view or as they sat in the same room, doing nothing in particular. We only remembered the glimpses.
Most importantly, the next time I fall in love, I will not tiptoe around it. I will be bold. If there is imminent destruction in sight, I will look them in the eye. Go on, destroy me, I’ll say. There’s not much left anyway. I don’t see how I will make out of this alive, and I am too tired to run. Fire at will; I surrender. I surrendered long before I met you.