The town toils under the scorching sun, and my dear, I still miss your warmth. I miss you just like I miss going to Amma's place. Life directs my ways, and I am just another nomad. Losing is part of moving forward and discovering a new self, but I have never truly adapted to this idea. The loss is always present, mocking and hurting. Dear, can I ever get over your loss? I know the answer, but I want you to encourage my illusion. You might wonder why I write these letters to you. I don't know—maybe because it's the only way I can feel less of the loss. " Let it go " sounds practical, though...
Despite how firmly I lie to the world that I am good, I am actually broken, just like everyone who lies by saying they are completely fine. I guess there is neither lie nor truth in the world of feelings. Only exaggeration exists there. Like the way I say, I miss you and I am good. These letters are immune to exaggeration. I am just being myself without any filter.
I am akin to the abandoned house opposite mine. It has been ages, but still the place bears the loss. Should I worry or stop thinking too much? I may be displaced from here and may forget the loss of it, but what about the losses living in me?
~A
You do use "it has been ages", at least here!
ReplyDeleteThe first line talks about weather at your end too.
Losing is part of moving forward, that was nice way of putting it.