Ah, the young love.
How serious we are at that teeny tiny age,
Planning our future
And our kid’s name.
That tingling we get as they come in our sight,
The butterflies we feel as the telephone bell rings,
The giddiness that over comes us at the mention of their name,
How my mind starts to sway at the proximity of their frame.
You just want to keep on listening
And later replaying to all what they said.
The constant day dreaming
And the counting of the minutes to the next meeting.
The life gets divided in:
Talking and not talking.
Kissing and not kissing.
Holding hands and not holding hands.
Gazing and not gazing.
The days pass in looking each other’s eyes,
The nights pass holding each other in the thoughts.
Hoping the life to pass in each other’s company.
Praying it to end in each other’s arms.
Oh! The young love…
It makes us passionate, bold, confused and mad.
The first young love, leaves us restless.
We believe it to never go away.
Lucky are those for whom it never ends.
But where does the love go?
Where does it fade away?
Why not love grow as we grow our age?
Why not it even remain constant but it keep changing the variables?
But may be this is what love is.
To take it all from one and pass it on to other.
And repeat the process till we find the one.
The one for whom it will never be enough.
The one for whom it will never go away.