Between The Squiggles

Sometimes I think had I let myself slip and actually fall in love with him, I would have gone blind.

Strange thing to say, I know. But one fine day, I caught myself – red-handed and shameless – deep in thoughts about him. I felt startled at my own self, like a burglar who was suddenly caught in a flashlight beam midway through a heist. I remember feeling annoyed with myself. Tch. Not again.

But just like a moth to a flame, an addict to heroin, or feet sinking into quicksand, I welcomed that very annoyance as yet another reason to think about him. And I remember saying, almost absent-mindedly, “I love you so much that sometimes I think I could go blind.”

It’s the strangest thing, isn’t it? We’ve all heard of hearts exploding from too much love but… losing sight? Who goes blind because they’re in love?

Oh.

I see it now.

……..

One could say I said it because, subconsciously, my mind was playing on the phrase “love is blind.” But nah, it’s nothing like that. My blindness (in whatever metaphorical or metaphysical sense my mind had given it) wasn’t about ignoring flaws or idealizing this person to the point of overlooking red flags. It was something else…. something sacred, mildly feral, and half-formed. Saint Lucy comes to mind. She was a devout believer in Christianity, in an age when uttering its name was enough to be condemned as a heretic in Rome. When push came to shove, the Romans, it’s said, punished her by gouging out her eyes. Yet, it didn’t matter — she still saw through faith. Maybe that’s what I meant without knowing it? That to have loved you would’ve been like staring too long into a holiness I wasn’t meant to witness. That to see you fully would mean losing sight altogether.