It’s a bit of a shock,
when you realise you don’t love something
the way you used to before.
You are fond of it now,
the way you are fond of
an old school friend
you haven’t spoken to in years-
but seeing something that you crafted
with your hands and your time
does not wrench you with anger and worry,
only a little nostalgia and mild thoughtfulness
as you wonder whether it is worth the effort
to create it all over again
or just shoot it
at the back of someone else’s yard,
in one final show down
and let it have that little dose of drama
at the very end, as a small mercy.
You fell out of love with your favourite obsession
slowly but surely,
it’s not your fault, you tell yourself,
analysing the situation clinically,
you no longer need it,
there are other things pressing for your attention.
You have outgrown it now,
like how most children outgrow
their imaginary friends.
It has fulfilled its purpose.
The only regret you feel is as you wonder
if this was the best you could do for yourself,
you with your assumptions of brilliance-
It is that sad smile
when you look at pictures of childhood crushes
and think about how small your world was then.
It is an awkward feeling, outgrowing love.
You feel a vague sense of obligation
that you don’t know quite what to do with,
every scrape and slow crumble cries you to you
to rush back with soothing words and plaster,
but you chew at the back of your ball point pen,
studying your rearranged list of priorities,
shaking your head dismally.
You feel like you are shedding
each of your childhood dreams one by one,
and the feeling is not pleasant.
You are cleaning them out to make space
for new interests you haven’t named yet,
but you cannot shake off the feeling that
you are somehow compromising yourself.
These new loves will never fill you
with excitement like the old ones.
That obsession for something of your own creation-
you were as much in love with everything it could have been,
as you were in love with what it was.
You believed in it,
in the way only parents can believe
in the greatness of their children.
You took pride in each other’s flaws.
The use of the past tense saddens you, but
you are cheered a little in the knowledge
that someone else may need it more now.
You have let him see what you loved,
and hopefully he will love it too.
You, the jealous creature you are,
like to think that he will not love
as deeply as you did,
but maybe, it is only that you love differently.
Maybe, it is time for a reinvention,
he will recreate it in his own image,
just like how, you had moulded it in your own,
though you won’t admit it.
In any case, you try to make peace
with an old love
and find other distractions
to believe in.
It’s a bit of a shock,