a gallery of recycled love

it keeps happening. it comes in stacks and bundles, not as lumpsum in one go. and now, every love that has every happened to me, lies somewhere in the gallery of recycled love.

‘love’ doesn’t have to be so dramatic and overhyped when it comes to feeling and being in the state of ‘love’. and it need not be the same palette or canvas size for everyone. it hasn’t come to me in the dramatic, poetic, cinematic way that people keep talking about. it’s actually been something that just happens quietly, in the glances, in the hallway, at the grocery store. almost too politely, as if the guest i called over for a brunch date. love arrives in the most unhappening of days when the home i have built inside is too serene and gentle, it rearranges the furniture inside my chest and then leaves behind what it couldn’t carry along. it takes a while to deconstruct and discard the fragments of the love that just happened.

and then, it happens again. all over again.

this time, maybe a different palette and with a canvas of different dimensions.

maybe this time, it will come with softer hues. unlike last time when it came covered in crimson red and left bright red wine stains all over the place that took ages for the furniture to get rid off. or maybe it will remind me of when it came in washed out blues and greys, almost careless and never really finding a canvas that fits too well in the wall. or i hope it comes in tones of brown and autumn with a canvas just as much as my wall could fit. soft and warm that almost reminds me of the cup of hot cocoa and melting marshmallow on a cold autumn morning. teaching me that quite and nothingness can still feel deep.

none of them has ever looked the same.

no two canvas i have on the wall have the same shades and patterns.

yet they all fit in together somehow.

a love once needed a vast wall with the brightest screaming colours. they took up space, attention, focus, and almost drained me of my own shades and thoughts. another fit itself into a small space wherever it could find and almost went unnoticed in the chaos. it taught me that not everything that makes you feel good and be yourself needs to take space.

i only had this gallery of discarded love built within me to remind me how every canvas somehow has a story to tell and the way it filled and took shades at some point in my life. over time, some frames cracked, some colours faded, while some simply just stopped feeling familiar anymore.

i’ve started to think of my little life partly filled with love not as a simple beginning with ending, but as a recycled structure. one that gets painted upon over and over and over, until it loses its own and the thick layer of paint makes it almost impossible to figure out what was even the own colour of the structure.

and somehow, each discarded love feels different. that’s the strange part. even when the patterns rhyme, the textures feel different. yet each one is wrapped up in its own version of ‘love’. i have felt it all, in the touch of hands, in the way someone gives you their jacket when you are cold, the way someone holds the cup of coffee for you, the way someone takes the time out to understand you and your everyday. this is where love lies, in the middle of it all.

one thing i was wrong about recycled love is that, i used to think i need to reuse my old feelings and version of myself, because i didn’t know how to grow or buy new ones. but it isn’t about shedding your old skin everytime to prepare for the new one. it’s about refinement and rearrangement. to be with what you have and to love - not with repetition, but with refinement.

most times that love has broken me, it has never done neatly. the bottle of paint has fell down on the floor with a hard crash and left the paint splattering all over the place. but on some times, it has slipped out of the table almost quietly without noticed. you never walk away empty-handed, you always carry with you the versions of these love hues - as habits, as pain, as fear, as softness, as lessons, as fear, as resilience. and you learn and grow with them all, despite what lies ahead. somebody first showed you how ‘love’ looks like, someone made you laugh that you still carry the joke with you, someone leaves you and then you learn to question everything, someone teaches you to walk away before its too late.

and i carry all of these along with me.

there’s a version of me that still knows nothing about heartbreak.

a version of me that has learned to apologize without shrinking.

a version of me that will never know what loving without getting hurt looks like.

and all of these recycled fragments of love are what i have been carrying with me all along. it makes me more of me.

each time love returns with its varied bottles of colours and brushes, i know i don’t have to bare out the same old canvas everytime. it meets a different version of me. a little stronger, a little brave, a little more resilient, and a little more of what i want in the other person. and i believe this is what growing with ‘love’ looks like. you don’t keep discarding and buying fresh supplies, you take care of what’s broken and discarded and let that heal you a little.

every love i’ve ever had, has taught me to become the art in a gallery that no one knows exist.

love has left me a lot of time, not as loss, but as art.