A Conversation - Gift that kills

 They were driving in silence for a while, hands loosely intertwined on the gear console. 

“Suddenly I feel so much love in the heart and It’s overflowing,” he said softly. “I feel like giving you something or giving something to anyone. The feeling of love is never specific to anyone or anything and it just needs to be expressed. But I don’t know what to give or what to do with this energy of love.” 

She smiled and looked at him. “Okay,” she said, “what if I were in a state as you and ask you the same question? What would you want from me, right now?” 

He thought for a moment and laughed. “Honestly? My answer keeps changing. It’s always spontaneous. Right now, I’m just hungry. You can do anything you like to express your love.”  

“That’s it?” she teased. “Something so simple?” 

“Yes,” he nodded. 

“I thought,” she said, “you’d ask for something memorable. Something you could keep with you for a long time, like a special gift or a symbol of this moment.” 

“That,” he replied gently, “is how the mind works. The mind wants to capture a beautiful moment and lock it away, so it can repeat the emotion by looking at the memory later. But when we try to hold on like that, we are secretly assuming that such beautiful moments may not come again. That’s a subtle kind of fear.” 

He glanced at her, then back at the road. 

“When we cling to a memory,” he continued, “we are planting a doubt in the subconscious mind that today is special, and the future may not be. That doubt eventually shows up as days when we feel the good moments are gone, and we must go back to old photos and gifts just to feel alive again.” 

She listened quietly, her eyes soft. 

“But if there is no doubt,” he said, “if deep inside we feel that these beautiful moments are natural and always available, then the subconscious mind keeps creating more of them. Then there is nothing to memorise, nothing we must hold in the room like a trophy. The goodness is always here, renewing itself.” 

“So,” she whispered, “we don’t need a gift to prove this moment is real.” 

“Exactly,” he said. “Our thought that ‘good moments are always here’ becomes a quiet promise, and life arranges itself to match it. Then almost every day feels like this—simple, loving, full.” 

She leaned her head on his shoulder. 

“Beautiful,” she murmured.

 

Love is not a moment trapped in time, It is the road itself, unfolding as we drive. 

Appendix:

The subconscious mind functions as a silent yet powerful force that continuously shapes our experiences through the beliefs we nurture within. It does not reason—it accepts whatever we deeply assume to be true and brings it into expression.

When subtle undercurrents of doubt appear in our thoughts—like “I hope this works out” or “What if it doesn’t happen?”—we unknowingly send a signal of uncertainty. The subconscious interprets that hesitation as an instruction, reinforcing delay and maintaining lack. Yet, when we replace that hesitation with calm assurance—an inner knowing that good things naturally unfold for me—the subconscious aligns with that idea and begins arranging events accordingly.

A gift we believe to be a symbol of love can sometimes work against it—quietly planting doubt in the subconscious mind. That doubt becomes a silent script, causing the subconscious to project a reality where love appears lacking or uncertain. But when we feel that love is as natural and constant as the sun’s rising and setting, the subconscious accepts it as truth and reflects a world where love effortlessly thrives.

After all, what is the point of a gift when every day, every moment is already filled with love—so abundant that life in reality is too good to be believed.