Time: 9.20 pm. Place: My bed Music: What the Heart wants by Selena Gomez


Declan. Tall. Gorgeous by all definitions of the word. It is hard to miss his tribal tattoo on his left arm. His dark eyes linger in shy demeanor behind his rectangular-shaped spectacles. Watching him for 10 minutes unveils his distinct character. How he cautiously uses his index finger to adjust them every once in a while. How his straight walk evokes insolent confidence and how attractive his inability to multitask centers his attention only on you while conversing. Perfect, they would say.

Spending time with him gives access to his being, his soul, his joy, pain and frustration. At that particular moment, we believe that we truly ‘know’ all there is about our new-found hobby. Our minds and hearts are aligned to our preferred ‘truth’;one that clouds our judgement and directs our decisions.

We turn to a roller coaster of bad decisions coupled with the undeniable sense of freedom, adventure and elation but our conscious constantly hails a reminder of the toxic relationship we are in. The need to experience this new emotion and serenity of sorts outshines the need to conform and confine ourselves to societal norms.

This, we contemplate, is life; A pounding heart, indecisive mind and  electrifying  sentiments set deep in cheap thrills.

The endless cycle goes on perhaps in an effort to find our purpose. Until we find that which gives us self-satisfaction and self-confidence, Declan’s texts and calls will always be answered despite this continuous engagement perpetuates a deeper trench of emotional damage.


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