The aftermath of a cupidone

मेरे हाथ में तेरा हाथ हो,
सारी जन्नते मेरे सात हो,
तू जो पास हो फिर्क्या यें जहाँ,
तेरे प्यार में हो ज़ाहूं फनाह...

Many people walk into your life and many out of it. But only a few leave their footprints on the memories of sand and are never washed away by the tides of time. Nothing, no matter what, can remove them from your memory. Even if you force yourself to erase it, its all but a feeble attempt. Like scrapping snow off your doorstep on a cold snow white winter day. Oh yes, its tough work. I have ploughed and ploughed, scarped and scraped. But there was no way I could prevent snow from piling up in a couple of hours. Just because it keeps coming back, would you stop cleaning your doorstep. It would certainly sound ludicrous and even preposterous to do so.

Am I happy about this? or sad? or would I prefer to sit on the fence?

Happy? Happy for what? That I have to pain myself into this arduous monotonous task.
Sad? Oh should I be sad even when I know very well that it was and is the right thing to do. A necessary thing almost like a fundamental duty.
Sitting on the fence, good idea ehh? It aint. Prefer falling like Humpty-Dumpty down to one side of the fence.

Which side would it be? When will I fall? Would the fall hurt?
I aint know it bro, I aint.