Dear Men of bygone years,
Now that the dust has settled, now that time has creaked its weary and tired bones over the bridge of days and then years, now that you are not what you were, and I am not what I was, now that days take on a hazy tone, and that was clear becomes dull and faded, now that the feelings which were so real and alive yesterday have gone stale and faint today - I can write this letter and be done with all what needs to be done with, and once and for all close this wicked Pandora's box that is called LOVE.
There was a time in my life, when I was relatively younger, when life seemed to stretch before me endlessly into some imaginary far far away where all would have to be 'happy forever after' I believed in true love. Yes, it's true, I believed in something that I couldn't have possibly known for myself for what does one know of pure and love at the age of 20 or so? I actually thought that there existed this one perfect man for me who would sweep me off my feet and carry me off in the pink and purple sunset and all through my days there would be that elusive of all feelings pervading them - Happiness! How foolishly naive and childishly innocent I was?
On falling in love I felt that the world has been suddenly endowed with meaning, the existence of purpose in life became truly manifest, and life seemed a joy. What happened then? Perhaps, marital familiarity took the mystery out of love and its nuances, the everyday bustle and business of living made me see you the way you actually were rather than how I imagined you to be in my heart. The increasing inability to say anything at all, the sudden realization that one is bound in a bond which stifles more than pleases, when the mere task of living together seems like a prison sentence. What is it that kills love or whatever it was? Is it that we are made to feel small for being who we are? is it that we are made to pay hard for thinking and behaving the way we do, is it that we are made to tow the line and if we can't we are shown the door? I don't know what it is with men but I seriously feel that men want their lovers/wives to play a certain role, to dance in a defined pattern, to behave a particular approved way and the minute they don't they become vamps and all love is withdrawn.
The very things that attracted you before, the boldness, the independence, the spirit of a woman becomes a burden to carry after marriage for such a woman has her own mind and is hardly a bowl of water at the bottom of a man's foot reflecting his thoughts, his ideals, his wants, his needs! Is it this fervent need in a man to conquer and bring into his control wild natures? and why is it that any sort of personality in a woman be thought of as wild?
I have lived a long married life, and I think I have loved, loved enough for a life time, I think the best times of my life were the ones without a man running the show or thinking that he is running the show! I am happy alone and pity the slaves of marriage with all my heart.
A content woman
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