I’d love to quote from The Holiday as Iris Simpkins puts it, “And then, there’s another kind of love: the cruelest kind. The one that almost kills its victims. Its called unrequited love.”
When I saw the movie, I quite did see her viewpoint through Nancy’s vision. And I empathized with Iris as well. But personally I never saw that coming into my life. And when that did happen, I saw the other side of the so-said one-sided horrific picture.
The unloved ones are a special category by themselves. They love to love without showing love. They love to feel special without someone making the effort to. They love to bask in the feeling of that someone being there with them always, anywhere. In the shower, in the kitchen, while driving, hell…even while brushing teeth.
I would really not like to believe that they lack the sense to understand if the love they are showering is being reciprocated or not. They continue the one-sided emotional connect as it were and dig deeper into their emotional graves as I’d call them.
All this while the poor or canny (depends on the person) bastard at the other end may or may not have an idea about this emotional grave being dug in the unloved one’s mind keeping his/her fond memories at the forefront.
A point comes when the unloved ones feel enlightened akin to Siddhartha sitting under the Banyan. And then there is a fork in the road of love. One leads to being a recluse in unhappy solitude. The other goes down the road of Mt. Vesuvius of AD 79. Either is uncalled for.
The paradox of the whole self-made crisis is that somewhere, somehow the unloved ones love the idea of needing an emotional crutch. And if that were not so, then they would never ever stand on their own feet, which they do eventually. Leads to believe and strongly at that, that they love living in the shadow.
Whatever be the case, the unloved ones should realize that if someone is the sole cause of unending lachrymosity, that person is just not worth the road, leave alone the fork.