A Something More Than It

This PriLog-ic is the last of the series.
There is no grammar of love. No meaning of it. No point of it, either, i wished i could say that! So the grammar would be defied in this blog, may whatever be the case, because this describes something much above love, something much above logic. Something far more vivid, far more transparent. A story with two characters i and I. I, first person, singular.
and i, first person, single. A story with no other person; for two I's can not make we!

It was a year back, when i and I met. i thought that I was just a friend, someone who had a face in the whole sea of crowd. Someone who sparkled time and again, just differently from everyone there. It was not until three months when i had to go through testing times, the times testing the patience and maturity. i found that I had been following i through all the severities, often compelling i to see the gem of the person I had been. Indeed, it was I who helped i to come out of the trench. The three months' war was over and it was time Rome was rebuilt.

A year passed, both the Is were best of the best friends, talkin incessantly on issues which were simpler than anything. The ideas seeming nonsensical to anyone outside, perhaps only i knew what he was talking about. I t was not that the gibberish mattered to any of them, it was the support which meant a lot! Not that any of them was weak, it was a sense of pride being I's friend for i, and vice versa, for; their friendship had grown out of all bounds. It was evident that i had something very singular going in his mind. Something which was simply out of the limits defined by Is friendship. I was in a shock! i never told her about it, though she could sense the upsurge of emotions building up in i, as well as she herself had to remain soothing and calm. Same was the case with i. He did understood that it was love, but all unexpected at that. What he could think of was to solve this thing with I lest the issue goes out of control.

There are some relations, sweetness of which is unbounded. The sweetness sometimes makes one feel comfortable, while at times, it makes one feel asphyxiated. The sweetness is unforgettable in any case. Why not make the relation a comely one? The whole beauty of the relation lies in the fact that how much we care about the others in that relation. Its not the words which ever matters. The language is a barrier to the human feelings. It creates the limit by constraining them in words. i never was satisfied with the lingual ability.

i had to see that his intentions never hurt I. The constraints imposed by language could not stop him. It was now out of the literary bounds. The words were flowing in the space and time. The time had dilated, and the space stood frozen. Their relation was now no more a friendship. It was more than that, a treasure of heavenly bodies, of which the moon shining above was just a small pearl.

I was in a turmoil, and i knew he had dragged her along him into this, so he had to find out a way. And then, they talked for the whole of night, the rain had stopped at I's place and the moon was glistening in the town where i lived. Their talks continued, ranging from funny to gibberish, their emotions from calm to soothing to stormy.

Both of them did not want to hurt each other, even at their own costs. So the result was both were facing the storms while soothing each other. Sometimes storms too create Rome! This time a new relation was laid between both Is. It was not love. Neither it was friendship. Something much different and better than both had evolved. Time beautifies relations, Tears beatify.

i was single in his room. Sitting on his chair and writing a piece, which he could dedicate to I, his pillar of success;
His appreciator I, his friend I, his love I, his success I, his saviour I, the savour of i was I, the energy source for i, and many more adjectives which he could not think of, after all it was the savour of the relation which made i an infinitesimal speck of nectar from the speck of dust.

This final blog is dedicated to I, the soul of i. The two Is should never make a we; for we means two separate entities.



I, this was the best testimonial i can write for you, i'm sorry, my english limits my expression.