I think the person undergoing unrequited love is in more a comfortable position, than the person on the receiving end. Think about it.
It's all about the intense emotions, and the feeling that their world will never understand your love. What happens when all of that deconstructs? When you do get what you want, and realize that one thing you always wanted isn't exactly what you thought it would be?

So there is no question of putting you on a pedestal, really. Or my situation.
You know what your problem is though? You're looking for a muse for a companion.

Aside- Somebody go tell him they are separate phenomena and cannot be moulded into one?

I am not asking you to think the way I do. But I am sure, the day you see what you searching for doesn't exist in reality, you will realize what I am around for.

Stop looking for a miracle to hit you. And start giving reality a chance.

Rehne doon?
Rehne diya :)

Perhaps the only lines in Hindi I'd write for you.

Talk, lover. Talk your heart out. I'll let you say whatever you want.
I'll let you crib, even though the paused movie is waiting for me.

You're like this child. Getting evidently disappointed at things that you've looked too much into.
Repeating mistakes that I hitherto warn you against.
Getting over-excited, unbearably passionate about things that only matter to you (and me, if you would notice)

Ler me mother you, lover.
It's my only way of showering unconditional love.

-Munni

How do you not dream, eh?

They say you are shallow. That you don't know what you're missing out on.
That you're so full of yourself, you don't see that I'm the best thing that happened to you.

How does it matter if you don't see?

Let's hum an old hindi number, while you tell me how you've grown up on these melodies.
Let's debate over Nietzsche and Sartre. Over identity and postmodern politics.
Let's talk about your ideas of beauty.
Your ideas of romance.
And I swear I will shoo off anyone who calls you pretentious.
Let's not say anything for hours. And love the comfortable silence.
Let me look at you and have the freedom to love you?
Trippy, Judging, Arrogant, Shallow, Self-Indulgent you.


I know you, you know?
Even though you choose what you want to reveal to me.

I know us.
Even though you don't see us.

Smile for me..
Once?

And I won't care of how corny I sound.

I am protective of you, too.
I should be a sweetheart too, right?

Who says i'm not impractical?
We can look at the stars all night, under a blanket.
You can tell me all about your idiosyncrasies and quirks.
Tell me about your dreams of starting a revolution.
Be angry at the world with me.
Go onto your extremes. Love, hate, want, pine.
Judge, and dote on your arrogance.
Delve into your brilliance.

I will love you all through it.
Just don't imply that you don't want me for who I am.

While mustering up all the cliche in the world, that still hurts.

You're made of stone aren't you?
I'm trying hard to not sound dramatic and pitiful.
But, I'd expect you to sense that I need you now more than ever.

I know it's not always about me.
But it's me and you. Me and you.

You do know what that means, right?

You had me with that smile of yours.

There were no dreams, no direction. It was all much too complicated for me to pen down. Too many emotions put into one situation.

How was I to deal with it? I don't see myself as being any different than I was. And you still don't see. You don't see what there was, what there could have been and what has come out of it now.

There still is. But do I want to tell you, now?

Do I want to delve into the complexities in search for a simple truth? Something you once told me doesn't exist?
I could defy you.

I know I could defy you.

I defy you by being crazy about you even now.
I defy you by sounding like schoolgirl when I come down to adjectives about you.
I defy you by living on this complex island of hope and meaningless melancholy, wondering if you'll see my in a way I want you to.
I defy you by wanting.... you? or what you are capable of offering?


Just.
Don't smile. Don't whisper. Don't let me "mommy" you. Don't be there. Don't be you.

It's still there. It's still strong.

I defy you, yet again.

You love her because she recited Prufrock to you with conviction.
But you forget the time I recited Prufrock to you, like my life depended on it.
You make her sound beautiful, and just leave. Just like that.
All the women you describe, come off as beautiful.
You fall in love with most women, because of one quality in them that stands out.
One quality.
I never asked you to love me, but I often wonder why you didn't.
This is not saying that i have learnt how to define how I love you.
Neither am I setting a melancholic mood, where I compare other women to me.
"Why didn't you ever love me?", is not the question.
The question is, "Did I ever have the potential" ?
I have stopped formulating my self worth based on your perceptions, learning the hard way.
No longer do I pine for you, or think of you when i listen to a romantic song.
Longing for you has been added to my past.
You matter. And that's that.

Yet.
When you describe her to be beautiful and a "woman of substance"
and when I can feel you falling in love with her,

Why does it hurt?
Why does it feel like someone pierced my skin with a pin, slowly and brutally and asked me not to squeak?