Work of Fiction
It been a while since we had a proper conversation, and I am sad that this is going to be the last one, may be we aren’t that special which we always felt in each other’s company.
I hope you remember the promises we made of being together till death tears us apart, I am grieved that it’s not death but our own egos’ which killed our relationship. The ego of one self is a very dangerous thing, every time I tried to speak in a calmer tone to set things right, every time I failed because of my all-encompassing ego. You were no different in being, you are still similar to who I am, repelling away like the ‘like poles’. We couldn’t adjust ourselves in the world we built and we ended up shattering every brick that we once carefully laid.
I still remember the first time I saw you, I saw you more as a friend than the lover you would once turn up to be. It was no love at first sight for me and neither was it for you, but it was love which blossomed through the long conversations we had, it was while ago when we did have conversations, not anymore, not anymore.
The first time when we exchanged our numbers, the first frantic calls, the teary eyed breakups of our former love lives, the career decisions, the always support attitude, I so miss all of this, but my ego would not let me go so my body is willing to do me the favour. The doctors have favoured a new research module to test upon what is really plaguing me, but they have failed to understand that more than the cancer it’s the broken heart which is bleeding the havoc by making me restless and maligning the left over self.
This time when I am ready to keep my ego apart and fulfil the promise of being together forever, it’s the death which scares me as our promise back then was belittled by the very death. If there was a place where all the dead souls depart to, I would choose to be the wind that could flow by you, which you could feel but you could never see.
I hope you never find this letter, I hope you never come for me, and I hope you moved on. But if you still manage to come and visit, don’t be disheartened because I would always be there around you like the protective wind which flows through you, though you could never see but you could always feel.
This form of story writing is totally new for me, but I fell in love with the idea of how deep a letter could convey, especially the emotions. Celebrating love doesn’t only involve the external feelings but the specialty lies within, the inner ones. It could be tragic, on the other hand blissful, melancholic or happy, in simple words, it’s these paradoxes which allows the boat of life to sail with a feeling of being alive.
Thank you !