I still write to your old address. After all these years. Guess the letter box has long filled now. Those blue inlands must be spilling from the slit. Even the postman must have given up on delivering to the box that had not been opened in ages. Few of those letters, I suppose, became one with the winds. Few, the kids down that lane must have crumpled into paper balls and smashed them at each other. The story that was supposed to be between you and me, is now a public affair. This wind, the sky, the blades of rain – they all seem to know about those kisses, that once were a secret in our breath. But I don’t regret that. Not even a bit.
This feeling of being exposed is good. This feeling of somehow being alive in your love is good. This feeling of being never answered to is good as well. They are all good, if not the best.
Surely, my heart would not have been able to stand the fact of my letter being opened by another man at your new address, your new home, and being asked about the sender with a shrug and your dismissing my love altogether with a laughter, labelling me as your ‘past'.
That would have been the worst, you know, against all these painful goods that I gracefully embrace. For I was, I am and I will continue being your today, till the curtains finally come down on this life.
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Superb. ..
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