The Seniority of Living

At a certain age, you will feel that the person you love is the most precious and urgent thing in existence, everything else mere nothing.

That person's eyes will leave you utterly lost, their laughter will steal away your sleep. Their voice will silence your own voice. Such love will be born, such depth you will feel for them.

Then days will roll by, years will pass, age will grow like an ancient banyan tree. Slowly you will come to understand that in this world, more precious and important than the one you love is the one who loves you selflessly.

The slightest touch of their hand will bring sleep to your eyes, their voice will bring melody to your voice. Looking into their eyes, you will find the depths of entire oceans. Even a word or two from them will restore your peace. You will be moved by everything about them.

Just like that hundred-year-old banyan tree—when someone pours water at its roots, new branches and leaves begin to sprout and spread from there, just like that.

Love is like this. The one for whom you were once ready to lay down your life—as maturity deepens, you will see that you are essentially laying down your life for the one who loves you. This is how it happens; let age advance, let the bag of experience grow heavy, you will match it exactly, you will find it exactly.

You will see that love never remains the same. Love too becomes many-colored through life's layers—sometimes blue, sometimes white, sometimes red, and sometimes like some sorrow of deep black-gray.