The death of I love you

For what seemed to be the grandest expression of humanity lies the death in itself

That even metaphor and hyperbole regretted they were born; born to a generation where they were glorified and perceived true for the day came when the three letter word equivalent didn’t equal its being, no more.

Countless murders done like a genocide by poets, kings and queens, nuns and priests and all of humanity through the use and exploitation of these once magical words over the millenia.

Perhaps if they were clothes they had worn out and faded their colors for numerous washings

Or if they were workers they had retired from the years of giving love to people and not love themselves

Or maybe if they were slippers worn for so many years they had burnt the soles of their wearer from the wrath of the ground

Or if they were lips where those words came out they had drank the poison that carnage themselves

Or even if they were lovers vowed to bind each other for eternity have betrayed themselves with the same words they expressed their worth

Even the sun and the moon, the seasons and months refused to honor what used to be the archetypes of comparison in love

Shakespeare must have abhorred those who fetish the words for they caused these words the inevitable depression from the pedestal of the elites

Sir Walter Raleigh must have lighted the candles and prayed for the souls of those who squandered and tied the words on a chair and beat them out for confession.

Rudyard Kipling must have rallied in the streets to save the ‘i love you’ from the inhumane acts of word-trafficking as if those three words have the physical anatomy of the human body.

Emily Dickinson must have chosen to live further in isolation so as not to witness the death of ‘i love you ‘ as the same funeral she’d attend in her brain when she heard the crows and the drum parade

Li Po must have ceased to drink his wine and thrown his paper boats in the river instead of softly brushed them to float along his love and longing.

Maya Angelou must have cried for the deprivation of equality in love as in war of ‘i love you ‘ as what the blacks needed in their struggle to find light of cultural acceptance because love, after all was what we all needed to persevere.

Or even Dr. Jose Rizal must have contained his anger for people who didn’t fight for their freedom to love so that the words ‘i love you ‘ would not have to lose its essence as a prized legacy to the youth

Perhaps it would be better for these words to die in war, left to tear and wear, be shrouded with mosses, forgotten, regretted, used and misused and buried into nothingness because even if they didn’t the passing of time had let them be and humanity had neglected them.

Were we mad?  Did we become a cold-hearted punisher?


And if I were the words I love you, I would have wished to die or would have committed suicide for the pain of indifference that humanity had caused me.

But then and again,

‘I love you’must flourish, excel, succeed and live further; farther and wider as a mistress, a whore, a man, a woman, a lover or a vessel- the best mission he had for the world to see.

Hence, it wouldn’t be surprising for ‘i love you’ to die in the arms of his or her betrothed every so often.




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