"A man writes because he doubts, because he is tormented."

Monday, December 30, 2013

For N

Dear N,

Of this morning I already scoured my thoughts, evoking images of your laughter and smiles, on the snowless nights of late December. I have been thinking about you in these minutes, without cessation, as pieces of you still linger on me. And here I am, with heart still sweltering from an insatiable feeling of missing you. The day hasn't passed, yet by now, something has compelled my hands to write you a letter. A letter of forlorn longing.

I am sorry that I have to go abruptly, leaving you early and not waiting for the year to change. Our Christmas rendezvous might be just transient, but, trust me, it will be forever engraved as the best Christmas I have in life. I can still hear you giggling when I was trying to remember some characters from Mahabharata. Or that time when I brought children magazine in lieu of a more proper crossword book. My heart is still blooming from that night when you hugged me, nestling in between hundreds eyes of the adherents of a sworn enemy that bears the same red marks upon them as the team I love. (You were part of them, too. But you know I love you too much to transcends this difference.)

My love,

You are dearer and dearer to me in each day. I loved you before, but it was not like this now. This all now is much more wonderful than before. And you wonderfully assured me that you will go with me, through joys and miseries, through laughs and tears. You see my flaws, my weaknesses, my errors. I am stripped and naked, devoid from any concealment, yet you opt to love me back as what I am. As who I am.

You are all together my faith, my hope, and my confidence; the security to my vulnerabilities, as the roof beam to a house in a stormy day. And I am prepared to love you with all your weaknesses. To be blind of those. To be blind forever, together. Is it a madness to believe for this to go forever? But didn't the wise use to say that love is insanity? If that is true, then I don't want to be sane.

I want to love you, even if every reason to love you has burned away.

Dear N,

As I am writing this to you, you know that I am half a thousand kilometers away from you. I have to stay here for a while. Wait for me, someday, I will go home again.

Meanwhile, if you miss me, just look at the west. I am there on the sunset. Look closely under the sun. As its last gleaming escapes from the edge of the day, there I am whispering you prayers and blessing from the faraway.

Sleep well, and live well.

With a lot of love,



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