Oscar Wilde once rightly said;
“To love oneself is the beginning of a lifelong romance”
This is probably the only kind of love story that lives till our last breath. Unconditional, unaltered and unassuming. These three words perfectly define our first love.
Yet we crave for more love, hopelessly and sometimes, ardently from others. Others, who have and will never know us more than we know ourselves, who may never be able to love us like we love our souls. Yet we pray to be worthy of love and acceptance from strangers that coincide in our path towards supreme happiness, choosing to remain blissfully oblivious to the naked truth of life.
We journey with a deaf ear to our heart’s voices, tightly blinded by the world’s perception of love. We nurture within an insatiable monster. If only those fairytales had taught us to find happiness within before we blended into the joys of others. If only we knew to stand apart before we wished to camouflage in the glory of society.
If only we knew that the first time we felt loved, was when we spoke affectionately to our bruised knee after a fall. The first time we dressed pretty was to only please our eyes.
The first time we were smitten, was an unspoken compliment to ourselves in front of the mirror. And the first time we wept, was for a silly injustice done to us that we don’t even remember anymore.
Then how did we along the course of growing up, forget about our one true first love; ourselves? Why did we grow up and learn to evaluate our worth in the love we receive from others? How did we not realize that we were our only love story from the very first day we opened eyes to light?
Life can’t be lived in waiting for a lifelong romance that leaves us hungry for love, appreciation and acceptance by loved ones or the world. Life is in knowing that every other love will come a close second in comparison to the first love of our soul.
– Preeti Dhakappa