The cynic or the poet? Who wins?

In a culture of casual and laid-back and no strings attached, I remain an anomaly. In all my so called wisdom, the sense of wonder and the depth of sensitivity every soul stirs in me is beyond belief. My naiveté never ceases to shock me when someone walks in and excites me to no end such that years of carefully practiced restraint gives way to a schoolgirl like sense of wonder.  The cynic in me rationalises everything. The social creature plays to what is the norm, with quite some difficulty. Playing it cool, letting it go , being chill. Words so common, words I loathe.

Life becomes so mediocre, all of us stuck in the rat race, the daily grind, paying utility bills, running after promotions that changes nothing. Chill and playing it cool is something I can’t settle for in a relationship. Lack of passion and conviction is something I just cannot. Call me naive for I expect the unthinkable like commitment, loyalty, inconvenient overwhelming passion as the basics. People call me silly. But if you don’t fight for something, if you don’t work to keep the magic everyday, if it was so easy, so convenient, so ordinary, where is the poetry? Why wait or worse settle for someone who is overwhelmed by honesty, passion and pure white affection? Why settle for someone who wants me to play it cool?

People move me, amaze me, interest me, intrigue me, confound me and sometimes make me detest them. While I work to learn to balance the sentiments, I find them beautiful. They are the most beautiful where they are broken, where they are insecure, where they are vulnerable and yet unafraid and unapologetic to recognize it. I have unfaltering admiration for vulnerability, openness and the unassuming courage it exhibits, to know hurt and yet have an open heart. It is the sign of true courage. To open up to another person and giving them the power to destroy you. The cynic in me has a strong hold on me. My voice of reason. But the poet refuses to accept defeat and fights with the spirit of a vehement stubborn child, a sense of wonder, refusing to give up. Refusing to give up on me.

Every now and then, a very rare moment, a soul crosses paths that makes the cynic want to retire and let the inner child play. Exhausted of being on a constant lookout, the cynic wants to give in when a soul almost evokes an elation only a kindred can evoke. And then the paths cross momentarily and then away. In a journey, meant to be spent for a moment, a moment of pure joy, beauty,of romance and poetry. Sometimes intense desire,sometimes brewing a storm within and  being the only port of calm in that very storm at the same time. Someone who makes your soul smile…

Sometimes, someone makes you want to stop, think, wonder and then go the distance. Maybe someday, someone will want to stop for a moment, to make music and give the cynic some rest, maybe retirement and let the poet have a field day. For once. Just the once. Forever.

So, No I cannot be chill. Because far too many things in life are convenient and mediocre. Love deserves to be more.Much more.

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