Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
September 30, 2011
August 30, 2011
Just Have Something In There...
“I want a soul mate who can sit me down, shut me up, tell me ten things I don’t already know, and make me laugh. I don’t care what you look like, just turn me on. And if you can do that, I will follow you on bloody stumps through the snow. I will nibble your mukluks with my own teeth. I will do your windows. I will care about your feelings. Just have something in there.” - Henry Rollins
August 26, 2011
Where Did That Word Disappear?
Go on, I dare you. I can see you looking at me the way you are, just like that. What are you going to do with it then? Yes I’m challenging you; look at me standing here, I’m not budging, it’s your move. I’m an elven Liv Tyler steeling against a wraith—if you want me, you can come and claim me. I’m not even packing Hobbit over here, I’m just waiting casually for you to cross whatever obstacle you see in your path. See, I’m tired of touching your thigh just this way, or placing my hand over yours just so; I want you to romance me.
Now you know I’m not one for gender stereotypes, I’ve asked guys out in the past and I’ll do it again. I’ve paid for their drinks and their dinners and I don’t care. I’ve changed their light globes. I’ve been strong for them when they’ve been emotional. I don’t like it when people say women are so-and-so or men are so-and-so, but goddamn it I am tired of this realism. I don’t want to be politically correct any more, I just want you to romance me. I am empowered, educated, and aware, and now, just for a moment, I want to be the princess you think is worth slaying dragons over.
I want you, once you’re done awkwardly avoiding catching my eye, once you’re done pretending you don’t notice me, once you’re done with insecurely waiting for me to make the first move, to ask me out. I don’t want you to text me or email me. I want you to say it to my face. I want you say it in a moment that will catch me completely off guard, and I want you to stumble over your words and I want you to blush, and I want to do the exact same as I accept.
Or you could just skip all the formalities and just kiss me. When we’re laughing the way we do, you should just kiss me. It doesn’t need to be in the rain or with fireworks exploding in the background. It can be at the bar or in a crowded street or anywhere, I don’t care—just kiss me you fool. And let’s both be gleefully embarrassed afterwards and hold hands in silence for a moment while we both digest the euphoria of our first kiss.
I want you to not let anything stand in your way. I want you to come for me, to sweep me off my feet with a simple look. I want you to want me in this grand, clichéd way, but without doing any of those grand cliché things. We can just watch a movie and drink some wine, as long as you let me snuggle into your side while we do it. And then, because you listen to me when we’re talking and you’re getting to know me so well, I want you to let me have the last slice of pizza, or the last bite of cake (but I’ll insist that we share it anyway, because I’ll know you are romancing me).
You should be impulsive when you’re romancing me. You shouldn’t wait the requisite 3 days to call or text me, you should just do it when it hits you. When your desire for me, to see me, to smell me, to hear my voice is so compelling there’s nothing else for you to do. I want you to be constantly thinking about me, and to do innocuous little things that to me, are loaded with meaning because they reflect the ways in which you are learning me. I want you to be reckless and passionate and I want you to let me be reckless and passionate too. I want you to disengage your baggage for me, and I want you to romance me like you’ve never romanced before.
And when you’re romancing me, I want you to challenge me and argue with me about my opinions. I want you to romance me in this dangerous haphazard way which screams of imperfection—which makes everything all the more romantic, because it’s so wildly flawed, and present and LOUD. I want you to look at me like the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen when I’m at my worst, and I want you to embrace all the sides of me as you get to know them, as part of some ineffable creature you can’t untangle. I want you to romance me because when you think about it, you really can’t see any other way.
From, Thought Catalog.
Now you know I’m not one for gender stereotypes, I’ve asked guys out in the past and I’ll do it again. I’ve paid for their drinks and their dinners and I don’t care. I’ve changed their light globes. I’ve been strong for them when they’ve been emotional. I don’t like it when people say women are so-and-so or men are so-and-so, but goddamn it I am tired of this realism. I don’t want to be politically correct any more, I just want you to romance me. I am empowered, educated, and aware, and now, just for a moment, I want to be the princess you think is worth slaying dragons over.
I want you, once you’re done awkwardly avoiding catching my eye, once you’re done pretending you don’t notice me, once you’re done with insecurely waiting for me to make the first move, to ask me out. I don’t want you to text me or email me. I want you to say it to my face. I want you say it in a moment that will catch me completely off guard, and I want you to stumble over your words and I want you to blush, and I want to do the exact same as I accept.
Or you could just skip all the formalities and just kiss me. When we’re laughing the way we do, you should just kiss me. It doesn’t need to be in the rain or with fireworks exploding in the background. It can be at the bar or in a crowded street or anywhere, I don’t care—just kiss me you fool. And let’s both be gleefully embarrassed afterwards and hold hands in silence for a moment while we both digest the euphoria of our first kiss.
I want you to not let anything stand in your way. I want you to come for me, to sweep me off my feet with a simple look. I want you to want me in this grand, clichéd way, but without doing any of those grand cliché things. We can just watch a movie and drink some wine, as long as you let me snuggle into your side while we do it. And then, because you listen to me when we’re talking and you’re getting to know me so well, I want you to let me have the last slice of pizza, or the last bite of cake (but I’ll insist that we share it anyway, because I’ll know you are romancing me).
You should be impulsive when you’re romancing me. You shouldn’t wait the requisite 3 days to call or text me, you should just do it when it hits you. When your desire for me, to see me, to smell me, to hear my voice is so compelling there’s nothing else for you to do. I want you to be constantly thinking about me, and to do innocuous little things that to me, are loaded with meaning because they reflect the ways in which you are learning me. I want you to be reckless and passionate and I want you to let me be reckless and passionate too. I want you to disengage your baggage for me, and I want you to romance me like you’ve never romanced before.
And when you’re romancing me, I want you to challenge me and argue with me about my opinions. I want you to romance me in this dangerous haphazard way which screams of imperfection—which makes everything all the more romantic, because it’s so wildly flawed, and present and LOUD. I want you to look at me like the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen when I’m at my worst, and I want you to embrace all the sides of me as you get to know them, as part of some ineffable creature you can’t untangle. I want you to romance me because when you think about it, you really can’t see any other way.
From, Thought Catalog.
August 25, 2011
August 24, 2011
Tea...
Weekend Meditation by Dana Velden (from the Kitchn)
HT: Divya :)
Making a cup of tea, a proper cup involving loose Assam and a strainer and gently warmed milk, is a start. So you go to the kitchen and put the kettle on and pull down the old white pot with the bright flower decal on one side. You start to feel the comfort of your task, the purpose of it filling up some of the empty space that sadness has carved into your heart. There's a reason for ritual, you discover, as you pour in a little hot water to warm the pot and then encircle it with your chilled hands: the repetition, the body memory, the soothing rhythm of things happening in a certain order and with intention.
The tea is hot and milky and for a while it is enough. But soon you realize that even though what you are experiencing is sadness and loss, there is also a request, a whisper, for celebration. A tiny acknowledgment that life and appetite must ultimately prevail. So you go to the pantry and find a crinkly package of butter cookies, just three little star-shaped ones with red candy centers, and a clementine. And a pretty plate to put them on because the request for beauty is somehow penetrating, sunbeam-like, the fog of sadness.
The clementine is, of course, a little too cheery but you gamely dig your thumb into the peel for you know that this is your responsibility now, to turn towards the brightness. The clementine answers you with a gruff, almost rude, spray of juice, sticky and fragrant. Suddenly you find yourself surrendering to it, to this little orange dictator that demands your attention and appreciation. And of course it is sweet and fills your mouth with joy.
The tea cools, and the clementine detritus curls on the table before you like the skin that a dragon would shed. You listen to the sounds of home, the tick of the clock, the refrigerator's hum. A few random and practical thoughts pop into your awareness: are there enough quarters for the laundry, will the package make it to Milwaukee on time, do hummingbirds migrate?
Slowly life gathers around you, urging you to get up from the table and start back into the busy doings of the day. You resist, lingering in the sorrow for a while longer, for that's where you last saw your old friend, the one whose passing has brought on this little one person tea party. Eventually you realize that sorrow isn't done with you yet, that it will be your companion for a while longer. So you rise from the table to sweep up the dragon's skin and wash up the dishes, a clutch of tears caught in the back of your throat.
But it's OK, it's alright. You're human and you're built for this.
HT: Divya :)
August 04, 2011
LoveSong...
He loved her and she loved him
His kisses sucked out her whole past and future or tried to
He had no other appetite
She bit him she gnawed him she sucked
She wanted him complete inside her
Safe and sure forever and ever
Their little cries fluttered into the curtains
Her eyes wanted nothing to get away
Her looks nailed down his hands his wrists his elbows
He gripped her hard so that life
Should not drag her from that moment
He wanted all future to cease
He wanted to topple with his arms round her
Off that moment's brink and into nothing
Or everlasting or whatever there was
Her embrace was an immense press
To print him into her bones
His smiles were the garrets of a fairy palace
Where the real world would never come
Her smiles were spider bites
So he would lie still till she felt hungry
His words were occupying armies
Her laughs were an assassin's attempts
His looks were bullets daggers of revenge
His glances were ghosts in the corner with horrible secrets
His whispers were whips and jackboots
Her kisses were lawyers steadily writing
His caresses were the last hooks of a castaway
Her love-tricks were the grinding of locks
And their deep cries crawled over the floors
Like an animal dragging a great trap
His promises were the surgeon's gag
Her promises took the top off his skull
She would get a brooch made of it
His vows pulled out all her sinews
He showed her how to make a love-knot
Her vows put his eyes in formalin
At the back of her secret drawer
Their screams stuck in the wall
Their heads fell apart into sleep like the two halves
Of a lopped melon, but love is hard to stop
In their entwined sleep they exchanged arms and legs
In their dreams their brains took each other hostage
In the morning they wore each other's face
-Ted Hughes
July 25, 2011
A Whore's Heart...
Suddenly this defeat.This rain.The blues gone grayAnd the browns gone grayAnd yellowA terrible amber.In the cold streetsYour warm body.In whatever roomYour warm body.Among all the peopleYour absenceThe people who are alwaysNot you.
I have been easy with treesToo long.Too familiar with mountains.Joy has been a habit.NowSuddenlyThis rain.
-Jack Gilbert
July 24, 2011
July 21, 2011
The Greenness Of Your Grass...
"Chances are, you’re not going to be alone forever. You might joke about being a spinster—about getting cats with diamante collars or maybe an obnoxious Cockatoo you can teach dirty words—but inside you, somewhere deep in your bowel, nestled beneath your utmost fears and insecurities, there’s a little scrap of knowing that tells you that one day, somehow, you’ll have someone by your side...
...start spending more time with you. Laugh at your own jokes. Luxuriate in solitary silence. Walk. Read. Pamper yourself. Be as filthy and disgusting as you please. Learn the comfort of your own embrace. It’s a cliché but it’s true—you will love better once you’ve fallen in love with you. Sleep sprawled on the bed. Snore. When you wake up make eggs and bacon and eat them in bed on your own. Find things—big and small—that you love doing and do them everyday.
Focus on your job. Find a hobby. Do whatever the hell you want. Because when that day comes—the secret day you hold onto in the hidden recesses of your guts—you will have to compromise. You will have to think of someone else whenever you make a decision. You will have to share your bacon, and maybe they wont like it crispy besides, and you’ll have to adapt. You will have to sleep wedged between someone’s limbs. It wont be better and it wont be worse; it will be different, and you’ll have to learn to love it too."
From, Thought Catalog.
July 20, 2011
The Weight Of Love...
“Sometimes we love people so much that we have to be numb to it. Because if we actually felt how much we love them, it would kill us. That doesn’t make you a bad person. It just means your heart’s too big.”
—Riding in Cars with Boys
Also, sometimes, they just take advantage of your love for them.
—Riding in Cars with Boys
Also, sometimes, they just take advantage of your love for them.
July 12, 2011
Jazbaat...
There will be that conversation you’ve been putting off for as long as you’ve known you’ve needed to have it. There will be those words that you’ve rehearsed over and over–in your car, in front of your mirror, in your bed in total darkness while staring at your ceiling–that tumble out of your mouth inelegantly, tripping over each other to make it out just so you can get this over with. There will be that ugly ball of thoughts that hangs in front of you, the thick, opaque cloud of words that formed in between you, through which you cannot breathe. There will be that moment where you try and scoot away, wanting to disown everything you’ve just said, ready to scream at the top of your lungs just to cut the silence.
And there will be that moment, that brutally delayed moment, where they respond with a shrug, a sigh, a casual dismissal of all that you just implied. They will demonstrate with unintentional precision just how uninvolved they are, how little they have emotionally invested, just how very little this has all mattered to them. There will be the moment you struggle to physically scoop up every humiliating statement you made and all their brutal implications and cram them, hurriedly, back in your mouth. You’ll fight back tears as your cheeks fill, blotchy and red, like a veteran alcoholic. You’ll linger on the cusp of wailing, of running in any direction until your lungs ache–but you won’t. You’ll shrug and vaguely shake your head, pitifully mumbling something along the lines of, “Oh, of course…right. No, no, that’s cool.”
But it will pass.
And everything else too...it always does.
Labels:
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July 01, 2011
If You Knew...
At gate C22 in the Portland airporta man in a broad-band leather hat kisseda woman arriving from Orange County.They kissed and kissed and kissed. Long afterthe other passengers clicked the handles of their carry-onsand wheeled briskly toward short-term parking,the couple stood there, arms wrapped around each otherlike he'd just staggered off the boat at Ellis Island,like she'd been released at last from ICU, snappedout of a coma, survived bone cancer, made it downfrom Annapurna in only the clothes she was wearing.
Neither of them was young. His beard was gray.She carried a few extra pounds you could imagineher saying she had to lose. But they kissed lavishkisses like the ocean in the early morning,the way it gathers and swells, suckingeach rock under, swallowing itagain and again. We were all watching--passengers waiting for the delayed flightto San Jose, the stewardesses, the pilots,the aproned woman icing Cinnabons, the man sellingsunglasses. We couldn't look away. We couldtaste the kisses crushed in our mouths.
But the best part was his face. When he drew backand looked at her, his smile soft with wonder, almostas though he were a mother still open from giving birth,as your mother must have looked at you, no matterwhat happened after--if she beat you or left you oryou're lonely now--you once lay there, the vernixnot yet wiped off, and someone gazed at youas if you were the first sunrise seen from the Earth.The whole wing of the airport hushed,all of us trying to slip into that woman's middle-aged body,her plaid Bermuda shorts, sleeveless blouse, glasses,little gold hoop earrings, tilting our heads up.-Ellen Bass
June 27, 2011
Two Countries...
Skin remembers how long the years growwhen skin is not touched, a gray tunnelof singleness, feather lost from the tailof a bird, swirling onto a step,swept away by someone who never sawit was a feather. Skin ate, walked,slept by itself, knew how to raise asee-you-later hand. But skin feltit was never seen, never known asa land on the map, nose like a city,hip like a city, gleaming dome of the mosqueand the hundred corridors of cinnamon and rope.
Skin had hope, that's what skin does.Heals over the scarred place, makes a road.Love means you breathe in two countries.And skin remembers--silk, spiny grass,deep in the pocket that is skin's secret own.Even now, when skin is not alone,it remembers being alone and thanks something largerthat there are travelers, that people go placeslarger than themselves.- Naomi Shihab Nye
June 03, 2011
May 26, 2011
They've Been My Fiction...
I was talking to D sometime back and she asked me what I loved, like a physical feature, about the guys I have loved in the past. And I couldn't tell her a single thing about a single guy. I remember the long agonizing nights I spent crying over them, I could tell you the number of stars that twinkled every night or how the sea-green walls offered comfort, but I don't remember if I loved their eyes or hair or mouth or hands or what else.
I don't think I could paint them from memory if I had to. I found that weird in retrospect.
And the more I thought about it, the clearer it became that I never took much notice of the physical form. I always loved the idea of them. The wondrous and magical place that existed between their ears kept me engrossed and busy enough for me to notice anything else.
And when they left, their dusty faces were easily washed away by the rain, but the idea of them stayed back for a long time.
I don't think I could paint them from memory if I had to. I found that weird in retrospect.
And the more I thought about it, the clearer it became that I never took much notice of the physical form. I always loved the idea of them. The wondrous and magical place that existed between their ears kept me engrossed and busy enough for me to notice anything else.
And when they left, their dusty faces were easily washed away by the rain, but the idea of them stayed back for a long time.
The Future Is Full Of Fingertips...
“The broken part heals even stronger thanthe rest,”they say. But that takes awhile.And, “Hurry up,” the whole world says.They tap their feet. And it still hurts on rainyafternoons when the same absent sungives no sign it will ever come back.
“What difference in a hundred years?”The barn where Agnes hanged her childwill fall by then, and the scrawled wordserase themselves on the floor where rats’ feetrun. Boards curl up. Whole new treesdrink what the rivers bring. Things die.
“No good thing is easy.” They told us that,while we dug our fingers into the stonesand looked beseechingly into their eyes.They say the hurt is good for you. It makeswhat comes later a gift all the moreprecious in your bleeding hands.- WILLIAM STAFFORD
May 17, 2011
Just Like A Woman...
Nobody feels any pain
Tonight as I stand inside the rain
Ev'rybody knows
That Baby's got new clothes
But lately I see her ribbons and her bows
Have fallen from her curls.
She takes just like a woman, yes, she does
She makes love just like a woman, yes, she does
And she aches just like a woman
But she breaks just like a little girl.
Queen Mary, she's my friend
Yes, I believe I'll go see her again
Nobody has to guess
That Baby can't be blessed
Till she sees finally that she's like all the rest
With her fog, her amphetamine and her pearls.
She takes just like a woman, yes, she does
She makes love just like a woman, yes, she does
And she aches just like a woman
But she breaks just like a little girl.
It was raining from the first
And I was dying there of thirst
So I came in here
And your long-time curse hurts
But what's worse
Is this pain in here
I can't stay in here
Ain't it clear that --
I just can't fit
Yes, I believe it's time for us to quit
When we meet again
Introduced as friends
Please don't let on that you knew me when
I was hungry and it was your world.
Ah, you fake just like a woman, yes, you do
You make love just like a woman, yes, you do
Then you ache just like a woman
But you break just like a little girl.
May 08, 2011
The Hand That Feeds...
Today Apeksha pinged and asked me if I was okay with her talking to S.
Apeksha and I were talking about my moving and then we were laughing about the movie KKKG, and about my role as "pooh" in final year play, and out of the blue, this. For a moment, I felt dizzy.
I know it was not very mature on my part to forbid my best friends from talking to S. But I did it anyway.
Here's the thing. If I love you, I would not hesitate to even wash your feet and drink that water, but when you're out of my life, I take everything away. If it was possible, I would even want to erase every single memory of me from the minds of people I oust from my life. I am extreme in my love and hate.
My friends are my family. And I was hurt and I was not okay with them talking to someone who has hurt me.
And, yes, I knew by asking Apeksha not to keep in touch with S, I was in a way hurting him. I knew it would affect him.
I knew it was a wrong thing to do. And my sweet girlfriends, except G of course(Who is also a sweetheart, but just more practical to give into something like this), agreed without a single why. They understood they said. I do have sweet friends, no?
So Apeksha, I am okay. He was your friend too. He's been a good friend to you. Yes, I still want to keep you with me and not have you talk to S. But I don't have that right, even as your best friend, I do not.
Things happen, fuck ups happen, people you love don't always love you back, you get hurt and you don't always do the right thing.
But it's not too late for me to do the right thing. I am sorry I kept you away from a friend.
Apeksha and I were talking about my moving and then we were laughing about the movie KKKG, and about my role as "pooh" in final year play, and out of the blue, this. For a moment, I felt dizzy.
I know it was not very mature on my part to forbid my best friends from talking to S. But I did it anyway.
Here's the thing. If I love you, I would not hesitate to even wash your feet and drink that water, but when you're out of my life, I take everything away. If it was possible, I would even want to erase every single memory of me from the minds of people I oust from my life. I am extreme in my love and hate.
My friends are my family. And I was hurt and I was not okay with them talking to someone who has hurt me.
And, yes, I knew by asking Apeksha not to keep in touch with S, I was in a way hurting him. I knew it would affect him.
I knew it was a wrong thing to do. And my sweet girlfriends, except G of course(Who is also a sweetheart, but just more practical to give into something like this), agreed without a single why. They understood they said. I do have sweet friends, no?
So Apeksha, I am okay. He was your friend too. He's been a good friend to you. Yes, I still want to keep you with me and not have you talk to S. But I don't have that right, even as your best friend, I do not.
Things happen, fuck ups happen, people you love don't always love you back, you get hurt and you don't always do the right thing.
But it's not too late for me to do the right thing. I am sorry I kept you away from a friend.
Labels:
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May 07, 2011
The 7-Year Itch...
A friend recently broke up with his 7 year old gf, who's also my good friend. Two of my best friends are unsure about marriage, after being together for 7 years (You know who you are :)). Another couple I know split up after 7 years. I am sure there are many more such couples, who have decided not to tie the knot with their long term partners. I am trying hard not to be judgmental here, cause in all cases, the people involved are dear friends and I know they are smart and good-hearted people.
And yet, I don't understand the math here. If I was with a guy for 7 years, I'd be damn sure about wanting to spend the rest of my life with him. 7 years is just too much time wasted in deciding, too much invested with no returns. Let's accept it, a relationship demands a lot of you, emotionally, mentally, financially and physically. Quitting after 7 years, is like bad math to me.
I know H is assailed with guilt and remorse, he knows he has betrayed N, the girl who's now coping with no job and no love, but he still took the decision he did. Same with all of them.
I wanted to slap H and put some sense in his head. What has N not done for him? It was for anyone to see how much that girl loved him, and he is a fool to let go of someone who has put up with so much for him for the last 7 years. What's wrong with him I asked him. He said he's confused. That was like a joke to me. How can anyone be confused after 7 years of dating is beyond me. I don't understand it. I really don't.
It's not like they found someone else, it's not like they have suddenly changed, it's not even that they don't like each other any more...but still...baffles me.
At 27, our parents had built a fortune already, had a family with two kids, and were already saving up for their retirement.
What are we doing today?
Somewhere I think it is the "Hey, I can do better than this. I can get a better girl/guy", thinking that's causing these people to split up.
With the world becoming smaller each day, with easy access to grooming, with easy money, it is easy to find a mate. Or that's what these people think. I have done that and I can tell you that it is a very potent argument and it's not so easy to brush it off.
It's easy to imagine that perhaps your soul-mate is somewhere else, maybe sitting at that cafe, maybe you'll bump into him at your friend's birthday party, maybe you'll meet her in MBA school, or maybe just maybe, you think, your parents will be able to find you a better one. Perhaps a hotter girl or perhaps a richer guy. The unknown will always be desirable. After 7 years, the temptation to explore will be strong.
I don't know who is right and who is not. But all I have to say is this: You might find a hotter girl, you might find a richer guy, but finding good, honest-to-god love? It comes rarely. Don't let people who love you walk out of your life.
And yet, I don't understand the math here. If I was with a guy for 7 years, I'd be damn sure about wanting to spend the rest of my life with him. 7 years is just too much time wasted in deciding, too much invested with no returns. Let's accept it, a relationship demands a lot of you, emotionally, mentally, financially and physically. Quitting after 7 years, is like bad math to me.
I know H is assailed with guilt and remorse, he knows he has betrayed N, the girl who's now coping with no job and no love, but he still took the decision he did. Same with all of them.
I wanted to slap H and put some sense in his head. What has N not done for him? It was for anyone to see how much that girl loved him, and he is a fool to let go of someone who has put up with so much for him for the last 7 years. What's wrong with him I asked him. He said he's confused. That was like a joke to me. How can anyone be confused after 7 years of dating is beyond me. I don't understand it. I really don't.
It's not like they found someone else, it's not like they have suddenly changed, it's not even that they don't like each other any more...but still...baffles me.
At 27, our parents had built a fortune already, had a family with two kids, and were already saving up for their retirement.
What are we doing today?
Somewhere I think it is the "Hey, I can do better than this. I can get a better girl/guy", thinking that's causing these people to split up.
With the world becoming smaller each day, with easy access to grooming, with easy money, it is easy to find a mate. Or that's what these people think. I have done that and I can tell you that it is a very potent argument and it's not so easy to brush it off.
It's easy to imagine that perhaps your soul-mate is somewhere else, maybe sitting at that cafe, maybe you'll bump into him at your friend's birthday party, maybe you'll meet her in MBA school, or maybe just maybe, you think, your parents will be able to find you a better one. Perhaps a hotter girl or perhaps a richer guy. The unknown will always be desirable. After 7 years, the temptation to explore will be strong.
I don't know who is right and who is not. But all I have to say is this: You might find a hotter girl, you might find a richer guy, but finding good, honest-to-god love? It comes rarely. Don't let people who love you walk out of your life.
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