I write you again with the hope that this letter too shall not reach you.
I do not wish for you to know what I think, how I feel. nor do I care to know about you. but I have to leave a message lingering in the air, aimlessly, until one day it reaches home uninvited. I do this for me. not for you.
The honest truth is that during the last 4 years I almost forgot how much our life was… is a crisis. but going back you reminded me. the tragedy that we contrived, that we chose to live in, that will torment us until the end. that you chose for us, really; but little does it matter for this is hardly the time to throw some blame around. the time for that has passed. decades ago. because of this, you see, I write this calmly and with composure. from the distance that separates us.
how far I am now from the hurried hug and the awkward smile we exchanged at the airport. like lovers making some grand yet inane promises that have no consequences the minute they part…
but look at me now… I can’t help the sorrow… I am mourning the distance with every passing minute. but always with that dignified pleasure, and melancholy. playing the role of the deserted, the loner… and enjoying it. truly.
I didn’t keep pictures this time. for needless to say, nothing could have captured the yearning, the disappointment, the change… not even my very words that fall short and empty as usual. but it’s the little things as they say… the scent of your laurel soaps that was awful. your thick coffee. black and bitter. the cardamom that made me sick after you left that morning.
but as you do know – and maybe are scoffing at this with disdain – all what happened could not confound my love… to you… and my hope. I left though. in spite of that. I crossed. I came back here. and through the gray kaleidoscope of unrest… death… despair. all I could see then was your face. a tiny white dot turning and turning in the midst of it all…
I shall not write you anymore. for better leave on this vague note of uncertainty and confused affection, and much more love than a child could have to a parent. better not illuminate where dark demons have been dwelling for decades. better not.
‘it was death… I chose life.’ is a haunting phrase that comes to mind. and it’s true.
I choose life…
