Letter: From a Lover to a Friend

Dear friend,

The fact is, that I am not over you. I still remember the night which marks the only time I have ever lied to you and I told you then that I was over you. But that was just a fool’s attempt to get things back on track which had so assiduously fallen apart right after my confession. I like to think that my lie did help in improving things between us and had I not said that we would definitely have been in a more detached situation. I know for a fact that you don’t have those feelings for me, nor do you want to engage into anything remotely more complicated than simple honest friendship, but that knowledge does not dampen my thoughts. That night seems long ago and long gone now, but still, every time I look at you, the feeling is the same which prompted me to tell you my heart’s desire the very first time. Now I just close my eyes and take a deep breath to blow away those thoughts which so frequently stifle my heart.

I like to think that my feelings for you are not born out of some glib thoughts and the fact that they have remained constant and unwavering for so long a time seem to add some credibility to them. But I also cannot lie to you that there have been times when I wished that I had nothing more to do with you. Not because the thoughts and feelings disappeared at some intervals but precisely because of the opposite reason, that they simple would not budge. I don’t know if you have ever felt that way for someone but I find the presence of a rock, so strong and steadfast in its origins that not a speck of dust would fly away from it by the wind, sometimes quite irritating. I cannot move it, kick it, crush it, break it nor can I move it, hide it, paint it or camouflage it. It just sits there in a vast open field, an aberration that constantly irks me and shouts for some recognition; not from me, but from you.

I have never found you beautiful, not in the contemporary way at least. But you are like a piece of Art. Unique and inspiring. You have inspired me constantly in a million ways. There are qualities about you that I admire to the hilt and there are the defects which I wish to remove but then ‘you’ wouldn’t remain ‘you’. Art is never meant beautiful. Art is supposed to inspire, like you have inspired me in what I think, what I write and what I draw. I find inspiration in every movement of yours, every subtle change of posture, everything you say when you have that façade of seriousness removed and everything you do when you are your natural self. I laugh not because I am mocking you but because I am enjoying every aspect of being with you. That is not laughing, that is happiness. I am happy when I am with you, and most of the time when I am with you and you ask me about what I am thinking, I am not thinking anything because my mind is just full of your thoughts. In Hemingway’s words, in that moment when I feel close to you, connected with you, I am absolutely fearless and for at least that moment the fear of death alludes me.

What is it that I want from you now ? I don’t know. It is not something archaic and redundant that you may believe I want. I understand the difference in feelings here and that is what stumps me. I understand and yet I do not want to. I am a pretty sorted person otherwise, you are the only complexity I have in my life right now. Nothing that life can throw at me right now is as daunting a task as facing you every day with the feelings I have and keeping them hidden under the cloak of invisibility.
You Lover.


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