Letter to Beloved

Dear you,

I imagine writing to you in my old age, dying, finally confessing my feelings for you and you reading my letters and crying.

But that’s not happening because I’m just 22, in the best health and I’m fairly sure you don’t feel anything for me. However, I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind and believe me I tried. My daily routine somehow finds a way to remind me of you and the advancement in technology made it easy to look at your photos online.

I see how frequently you change your photo and status on Whatsapp and I imagine (wrongly) that it’s for me. That maybe you want me to message you and talk to you. I know I am wrong in thinking so.

Just today I was talking to your best friend, I glanced at his watch and it reminded me of the playful banter you and I had over your watch. The nostalgia! It seems almost unreal that less than a month ago I had found myself lying beside you and feeling…naked. I was fully clothed but for those few moments I didn’t put up a charade. I was me, I felt more connected to me than ever. And I felt so connected to another person – you.

It was almost like a Zing! But maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it was just me.

I remember your level of ease with me. I remember you not saying anything knowing full well that laying beside you I did nothing but stare at your face. I remember you telling me you knew it even though your eyes were closed. I remember both of us disappointed to see the rest of our friends return to our room because it meant our time together alone had come to an end. I remember you mocking my fear for darkness but not once did you try to test whether I was lying!

Ah! The moment when you opened your eyes and looked at me, I didn’t feel ashamed to have been caught staring at you.

I remember tracing the lines on your rough hands. Somehow my soft hands belonged in your rough hands!

Oh darling, I miss it! I miss all of it. Please tell me it wasn’t one sided. Please tell me it wasn’t one of those times where I find myself as the one who felt more, saw more… loved more.

I cannot ever begin to describe how fondly I think about the three days I got to be with you, work with you.

I wish I wasn’t writing this letter to be never sent. I wish we were discussing those days holding hands – fingers interlaced.

I wish we were still talking.

Maybe one day I will move on, but that day isn’t today.

Till I find my happiness again,

Me.