They say, waiting is painful. Forgetting is painful. But not knowing which one to do is the worst kind of suffering. It’s a double edged sword.
Waiting to meet someone and waiting after one has known they ain’t meeting ever. The latter begets despair and gloom and sadness while the former begets hope.
But Hosseini slaps right in one’s face by making a point that, “Love, like it’s accomplice hope, is a treacherous illusion.“
It’s not the separation that sears our souls. It’s the apprehension that, like a shadow, accompanies detachment.
The seclusion that tags along. A peculiar sadness that consumes our mortal existence. It starts to take its toll.
Then, time does its taking and brings distances. The sight of the smiles that soothes our souls becomes less frequent. The smoky light emanating from smoggy eyes becomes a luxury hard so find.
The apprehensions that the cuts and features of the loved one will gradually start fading and forgetting from our minds as the time shall pass and it’s traumatising.
Years pass by and the apprehension that the time would come that you’ll be unable to perceive the shape of your love as to how they appeared and you’ll have to make an effort to recall the face and eyes and neck and gait and demeanour and voice.
They are still all over your mind and inside your heart but times are cruel and memories will start to erase itself.
Leading to the ‘world forgetting, by the world forgot’ and ‘eternal sunshine of the spotless mind’ phenomenon.
And you grow accustomed to their absence and come to terms with the reality and the miseries and mishaps and misfortunes and pain over the years caused by their absence subsides.
You dread the thought of losing and forgetting the tone and pitch of their voice. The gestures they make the postures they flaut.
The anecdotes they share and the lame but funny jokes they crack. Their cackles and childish laughter. Their rage and retribution. Their love, friendship and affection. Whims and multi-shades. Life’s all charms personified.
And this uncertainty and misfortunes make me afraid. And they rightly say when they say I am deathly horrified of almosts. Of coming so very close to where I want to be in life that I can almost taste it, almost touch it, then falling just a little short.
And you want everything or nothing at all. And you want them in their entirety; their parts and pieces, their hurt and scars, parts they show and parts they hide.
It’s never certain what the future brings and how it leaves its marks and erases some scars and impressions. Until then, all we have is a little time.
And it’s the most valuable thing we own. And let’s make the most of it. And cherish it. And live it to our fullest.
And let’s for once set our limits aside and just live and love and do it beautifully in all its entirety.