'Maybe that whole love thing is just a grown-up version of Santa Claus; just a myth we've been fed since childhood. So, we keep buying magazines, joining clubs, and doing therapy and watching movies with hit pop songs played over love montages all in a pathetic attempt to explain why our love Santa keeps getting caught in the chimney', Kate in Kate and Leopold.
When I was 7 or maybe 8, on Christmas eve I had heard someone's breath near my side-table. I shut my eyes and pretended to sleep, my ears sharp as ever. That moment, the 7 year old in me believed in Santa with all my heart.
The next morning I woke up and found no gift, just my Dad's old boots. Turns out my Dad had come back late from work.
That was the last time I ever thought of Santa. I have occasionally got a Christmas gift wrapped inside a red sock, as and when my parents felt like it, but after that day, to me Santa did not exist; I knew for sure, Santa was a myth.
I'm 18 now, a little older maybe, and ocassionally I do feel loved.
But just as I found old boots instead of a gift that I was expecting, I have never found the gift.
Just old boots.
And each time I told myself, maybe next Christmas would bring better gifts.
But everytime, I found nothing.
Just like the day I stopped believing in Santa, today I stopped believing in love.
I'm 18 years old and to me love is just an old boot you find on a lovely winter morning; just when you think you found Santa.
4 comments:
Ah, how true.
My each Christmas revolves around my dirty old purple socks, for 3 years [as I haven't grown a bit taller from then]. My heart has sunk with those dirt particles and worn-out smell within those socks.
Spare me the horror of even expectation of any gift. Let the Love live in books, movies and songs. My love is safe in my socks.
And, this is so not fair when you speak my heart out in such an understandable yet cruelly sad way -_-
Nice post. =]
Ouch.
I'm not quite sure if you mean something calculatively good or terribly sad. But I do believe that the love you might be referring to, is just a sparkelly, starry version of fondness. By the way, going by the etymology of the word fond, it meant foolishness. Haha! Now that's a grim irony.
true..sad..beautiful
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