Dear P,
I hope this letter catches you somewhere in the middle of a smile and a smirk. Is it fair to imagine your face with the sort of glow that only my absence can guarantee?
In wake of the recent arguments we’ve had, it’s worth highlighting that there is nothing left to say. We’ve reached that stage in our relationship where very little is left to imagination. Some experts may pontificate that there was no chance in hell that we two would have made it this far. But the truth is, we did. Don’t know how but we did though. Quite a mystery. Despite all the turbulence on our flights, we stayed put. We didn’t give up easily and that speaks volumes about our affection for each other, no?
For the longest time, I took credit (rightly so) for pushing us forward, to keep us afloat when it was you who quietly made it possible for us to even have a story in the first place. I used to accuse you (wrongly so) of indifference when you were the anchor of our bond. My enthusiasm would wax and wane while you remained steady. Some clarity take their own sweet time to manifest.
But then, I like to believe that even the noblest of intentions take a fall when human weaknesses appeal. Why else would two people madly in love hurt so much? Doesn’t make sense. But that’s exactly what happens when we don’t pay attention.
I know it’s too late, and yet, somewhere I truly believe that two sighhearts are meant to beat together.
Yours,
C
Dearest C,
It’s funny that you’d assume (assuming is your favourite hobby) that I would be glowing in my isolation. If anything, sadness has become my style statement nowadays. Lana Del Rey should write a song for all-weather sadness. Summertime has limited scope.
I don’t wish to go into details all over again. We’ve done more than our share of that. Yes, it is true that we were a fort of comfort for each other and it’s also fair to suggest that we made it this far because deep down, we both knew that we got lucky with each other. You thought it was impossible for someone as vulnerable as you to find someone like me. Conversely, I felt it was a miracle of sorts that I found someone who sought in me what others didn’t even bother to look for. We were perfect—but only for each other. And now, when I reminisce, it feels like, somewhere down the line, we took each other for granted. What we presumed to be trust went missing overnight. Or maybe, it started disappearing slowly, very slowly.
We had too many issues, love. Way too many issues, to be honest. Still, we carried on because we couldn’t stand spending our lives with anyone else. And look where it got us!
I don’t know what is going to happen next. For the time being, I’d rather spend some time away from your gaze. You have a habit of noting a smirk when I was smiling. Maybe that has to change.
Your sighheart,
P
Dear P,
Last night, it rained so heavily that I woke up scared, only to learn that you aren’t by my side. Habit is a strange phenomenon. We get used to something and then it becomes invisible. Until it’s gone.
I agree with everything you mentioned in your letter. We both know the dynamics of our bond. Only we do—not our posse of friends, family and colleagues. To them, we’ve turned into a reluctant gossip.
Sometimes, I wonder what you saw in me although you used to love repeating a line—”You are mine.”—that always soothed my soul. One of those few instances where you vocalized your feelings for me. Now that I am all alone, left to the mercy of your decision, I do realize that coincidences are cruel. When you see a dream of a bakery and then the same events unfold in reality, that’s a sweet coincidence. The same can’t be said about a coincidence that doesn’t have such a saccharine ending.
In a way, we are all puppets of the universe, playing it out to someone’s entertainment. At least this thought gives me some comfort.
How many hours do you sleep? And do you ever wake up scared and lonely?
Yours,
C
Dearest C,
I don’t sleep much but I do dream a lot with my eyes fixated on the clock or the window, lost in their own theatre of how things could have been. I keep thinking about us. This phase feels like those clouds that form a panda or something, only to fade away when you point it out to others.
I sometimes feel I made it worse for us by being too loving, by being too kind, by being too embracing of your flaws. Perhaps, we would have been better off had I put my foot down earlier.
I sometimes feel I should have been more understanding of your troubles, and found ways to heal your tormented soul. You were hurting and hurt people are bound to hurt the ones closest to them.
Either way, the universe is a lot crueler than the coincidences we witness.
You were the reason I didn’t feel the need to vocalize my feelings: well, you were mine.
Yours,
P
Dear P,
If you were to go back in time and change one episode from our history, what would that be?
Feel free to be as brutal as you normally are.
Yours,
C
Dearest C,
In case somebody in Silicon Valley comes up with a time machine and I manage to go back in history to fix something from our past, then it would be that day when I understood your frailty. For the first time, I could see that you can be more detached than you give yourself credit for.
I wish I could just hold you tightly and let you cry. Because as much as your anger was menacing (think of those dreadful froths of lava in Iceland), your worry was misdirected at hiding it from me. The only person who was sincerely invested in you.
All your issues amount from your angst to give up as soon as possible. Something you don’t accept easily. I wish that wasn’t the case. You just want to run away, under the delusion that it will absolve you of everything you were supposed to do but didn't.
What would you change from our past?
Yours,
P
Dear P,
I don’t want to change anything.
I just want to have a (continued) future with you.
The past is a canvas worth dusting over from time to time. No point getting lost in the smudges. Our edges aren’t meant to be smooth.
If we can both work towards us, maybe, we might just make it.
Yours,
C
Dearest C,
As much as I hate admitting it, I miss you :)
Yours,
P
Dear P,
Well, I miss miss you (::)
Yours,
C
Poetic.
And yet these are UNSENT letters. 😶