I wrote this when I was eighteen and I lost it. After six years, I post it because experiences like these are too precious to be lost or forgotten to time. Also, my time in my hometown never fails to bring back memories- fond and painful, decisions- impulsive and coordinated and when these memories hit, I would like someone to know. Because otherwise, its a waste and this is just too good to be wasted. That's it. Here we go: " Dear past-lover, I hope this letter finds you just fine, happier and better than you were in my company. Someone had once advised me to love wholly, completely: with all my soul. If love stays, fine. If love is shattered, you shall grow more creative. He was right. In fact, the only reason I started writing was because I needed somebody else to feel my pain. Anybody! A stranger, a teacher or a neighbor. I believed that if somehow I could address the sheer void I felt inside me, perhaps, I might be able to get over you. I wished every night before going ...
I went by your house last night again. It become a habit now passing by your place, drunk. Like it's some typical Bollywood movie. only it's not because I know what I am doing. I am in control and I'll never lose it. I looked up the window I used to always look up at. I saw me. Sixteen year old me. Patiently looking down from your window. There was a calm in her I know wasn't in her when I was sixteen. My breath grew shallow and paced up. There isn't anything the same in the both of us. You were right. I camouflage really easily and before I could know, I became this person. I think I gave in to the lifestyle; the parties booze and boys caught up to me and it's okay. I am not complaining. I won't say that that I detest the woman I have become. I absolutely do not think I should have been the way I was when I met you; fragile and easy to love. I don't want to be easy. I don't want to love the way I loved you, like a traveller in a desert loves a mira...