How shall I tell the women I loved
That it was not they who I loved
But I myself all along in that love
Where I thought I was getting something
That was making me happy in their company
Else which fool tags along with anyone
Who makes him/her feel less than happy
And yet see how the world is mad after love
So much poetry, songs, books, movies and letters
All singing paens to that thing called love
Yet no one is willing to admit this unromantic thing
That love is about us and not about our beloved.
Know Thyself 