I want to write you down. But this is not something I would do for appreciation or an ordinary letter I’d write to get your attention. Just like the tyres of car screech, words usher out of my body. Feelings rain like a torrent but it’s the paper that gets soaked. I want to feel like an artist who paints an empty canvas with his imaginations into an ethereal beauty. I want to sit by the sea shore and pen down thoughts about you while the waves go back and forth onto my feet. I want to feel like an author of a bestseller who pens down his pain while his pain is praised by many. Dear love, be my muse, be my content, will you?
Maybe you were a shooting star and it was stupid of me to have kept wishing for you each time. When you said goodbye with an assurance that our paths shall meet someday, I was shattered. Now, now my heart skips a beat with fear, love, anger, expectations, adrenaline and what not when I spot a pathway junction anywhere. My stupid heart questions me, “What if this is the path she was talking about?” Even today, I write letters to you with an assurance that my words are being heard somewhere. We both burnt in love, didn’t we? Yes, it’s something different that you burnt and burnt and burnt and turned into flames while I turned into an ice cold stone.
You were like the stars, appealing and shiny from far but the closer I went, the fiercer you burnt. Maybe that is why people say some things are meant to be admired from a distance and you were one of those. I thought poetry doesn’t run through my vessels until you left and now, your remains perfectly rhymes the pages in my notebook; only to make me feel numb again. The memories of you are as beautiful as the days spent with you. I’m not even sure if I can ever come out of this numbness because I’ve started enjoying it. Yet, in every letter, each of my teardrops cries your name.
Wherever I go, I go with you. You were never apart from my soul. Whatever I see, I see with you. You’ve left behind a part of yourself that repeatedly denies to leave me and see, see what I have become with it. Wherever I go and whatever I’ll ever become, it will be with you. I fear, I fear that if one day I decide to dust my heart off, it’ll all be your fingerprints.
There were many homes to my love but dear love, you are the one that my soul worships. Whenever I feel or hear or utter the word ‘love’, all the places, objects, memories associated with you comes to me the way I come back home to your love. Is this the reason they call it ‘falling in love’ and not ‘rising in love’? Maybe yes because you dive deep into it, explore the depth and rise higher.
I still howl like the wolf over the long lost love I could never fathom. After all, some wounds don’t bleed and some scars still ache. With your departure, I understood that love never dies a physical death. Thank you for the lessons my love, it was much needed. Should I say you were a rainbow and I, a color blind? Should I say you were life and I, a breathing corpse? Should I say you were the light and I, a darkness freak? You see, I am not quite good with words.
We might not be on the same side of the table now, but at least we are under the same sky and dear love, I pour my love every night into a glass of whisky and empty papers. A journey from pain to pen brings you and your memories back to me. Yes, I want to write you down, all of you but each time I sit down to write you down, my heart feels a fierce burning sensation deep down. And all I can do is scribble your name. Your name tastes poisonous and I taste it every single second.
The same idiotic non-romantic lover