Now that Valentine's day is near, I finally have an excuse to write about the romantic form of love.
I have thought about it a lot and I have come to a conclusion: it is not meant for me; it is simply not possible for me and I cannot do it. The idea itself is so revolting, the concept so ridiculous that I absolutely won't entertain a single minute engaging in it.
I don't know why my mind revolts so insolently against it.
I, for one, would not waste a single breath for it, but would watch other people's love lives cynically: "Yeh tamasha muskuraakar hum bhi dekhenge" (rough translatation: I shall witness this farcical spectacle with a faint smile on my face).
^First Step of becoming a Supervillain.
I have thought about it a lot and I have come to a conclusion: it is not meant for me; it is simply not possible for me and I cannot do it. The idea itself is so revolting, the concept so ridiculous that I absolutely won't entertain a single minute engaging in it.
Why do I hate the romantic kind of love so much? Is it because hate is another way to express love, and all of my capacity for love is transformed into hating it?
Why would anyone care about these frivolous things like love? There are people who have far more serious problem - like not knowing where their next meal will come from, or whether their next step is going to be a pit or a bough, or which book to pick up next. I, for one, would not waste a single breath for it, but would watch other people's love lives cynically: "Yeh tamasha muskuraakar hum bhi dekhenge" (rough translatation: I shall witness this farcical spectacle with a faint smile on my face).
^First Step of becoming a Supervillain.
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