Open Letters Are So 2011

You and I don’t even need one. You’re a phone call/text away. Sadly, not closer. Here’s to growing up together and still being able to surprise each other with our reactions. I guess that is what happens when you grow up in almost parallel universes.

It’s strange, but I am still not averse to the idea of handing you a resignation letter. Not the badass sort, though.
“Sir, I resign to any decision made by both parties at this juncture. I am at the service of this company that has held my talent in great esteem for so long. But, I am afraid greener pastures await me…”
Yada, yada, yada.

We promised ourselves a very different present for ourselves in our past,  in our naivete. You may call this a needless, almost tasteless flair for drama. I can almost feel you cringe as I turn around to walk away dramatically (only to turn around to see how you react). But, it all seems to be a really long drawn version of the joke about the tiger chasing the hunter chasing the tiger. IT’S CIRCULAR.

Even today, all I need is a smile. Say the word and this Alabama’s got it goin’ for your Clarence.

*enters self combust mode*

I can study to rap and you cannot stand it. You have a one track mind. I’m still trying to figure out how many tracks each thought of mine has. You’re organised. I’m organised chaos. You’re logical. I have been defying logic just by existing.

You’re weak. I’m weaker. 

But, you know what we both are? Too young. Too far. Too close.

Bedtime Stories of Disintegration

This one’s for a certain Ms. Mathur. She needs her bedtime story. 

There is no emotion with less clarity than desire. It consumes you completely and renders you crazy, blind and hot all over. You’re burning with anger, with frustration. You’re on your knees with your hands outstretched because you want to touch something absolutely unearthly to you. You have not seen or felt this way before but in the presence of this one thing. What is it that attracts us to the unknown, you ask? I would not know. I am too young to tell, maybe.

But, here she was. On her knees, with her hands outstretched. Just like you. She touched his face like it was the first time she touched it. There was nothing to it but beauty. She smiled because she felt every nuance of the face with her fingers. The way his eyelids shut as she run her hands over them, his thick eyelashes, the bend on his nose, the dents on the sides of his smile, his lips, his long neck. She felt it all. She drew a picture in her head. She did not have the skill The Guy with The Upper Hand did, but she tried. She tried hard to get him right every time. But, every time she knew it was better with her eyes open.

She blinked, over and over. He laughed at her because he did not understand. It had to be perfect. How did it matter to him? He was leaving. Departure is a tragedy only for those left behind. Left behind, left behind, left behind. It does not take the pain away. No amount of repetition, no amount of reassurance takes it away. Take it away, take it away, take it away.

I want to scream at you. I want to tell you I love you. I want to shake you to see if you even feel anything. Feel something, feel something, feel something. I want to touch you and feel the curve of your elbows and the base of your neck. I could run my fingers around your ears and count your beauty spots. Don’t mock me. It’s all beauty to me.

Time is running out. I have to tell you so much.

But, we slowly disintegrate. We’re only a memory. I could only ask for so much time for you and me. I could fall in fragments on the floor in front of you. Pick me up and keep me with you? Wouldn’t that be a lovely end to this story? I could be a bottle in your pocket.

Or we could open our eyes and realise this moment never happened? We’re living a waking dream, Sunshine. We’re living out our best fantasies in an alternate universe where you believe me when I tell you you’re perfect. In that place between then and now, till we meet, I could count your flaws over and over.

I don’t.

I won’t.

I can’t.

I mustn’t.

Repitition will kill this. It won’t matter soon.

Two of A Sunshine

Being in a new place means making new friends to share the experience of being new to someplace. There are things you have not seen before, places you haven’t been, corners you haven’t explored, things you haven’t tasted and people you haven’t met.

Then, you come across someone you think you’ve known forever. Someone you’ve probably met before but cannot pinpoint it. Three years ago when I was new to things, I found myself a pocketful of Sunshine. I knew then that I had found something special and I refused to let anyone know. I refused to let myself believe it. I stored you in my pocket for months and never wanted to let go. Today, I laugh when I look back and remember what I was like before you. What was I like before you? Young would be the best way to put it. I was young and I did not know any better than question things I knew nothing of. I put my heart on my sleeve and tossed it around to entertain you. It will always be lightest I feel. Thank you.

I am new to things again. I see a few rays peeking through and I want to doubt myself again, but I have nothing to lose. You’re two of a kind. Two rays emanating from the same Sunshine. One too far to touch me, one close enough to touch for myself. But, I will bask in it before I burn.

I am here, at this odd hour, thinking of everything both these people mean in the larger scheme of things and you know what? For once, I don’t care. I refuse to plan my impulses (for now). All I know is that you’re light. You both are. You’re both beautiful.

But one is love and light. Isn’t that the one we’re all afraid of? Isn’t that also the one we crave the most?