Aftermath of Love

A sneak-peek into a girl's heart...

Dear R...

I know there’s no point in writing this letter. All writing is meant for being read. Without a reader a writer can not be. Again, having a reader is one thing, and having a particular reader is a different thing altogether.

This letter is meant for you, and well, you will never read it. And it does not matter who else reads it, because it is only you who I want to show the emptiness brewing within me. Yes, I had promised myself I will not think of you again, and yes, all my tarot card readings pointed fingers at a future and relaxing my claws from the past.

I was just wondering, when do you think it is finally over and make up your heart to move on? Because every time I was angry about something you said, I was bitter…but eventually it would subside. I would dig into the memories of your smiling face, the life in the lines of your face, the distinct rhythm of your voice, that accent. Everything just enveloped me in an intense feeling of comfort, and little by little kissed away my anger, replacing it with a burning want to hold you, to talk to you or maybe just place my ear on your chest and hear your calm heartbeat.

I don’t like you angry, I never did. I was scared to think any shade of purple on your fair face. It wrecked my heart to think you were staring at me, hatred gorging from your eyes. You have a very beautiful smile. And a very jolly face that holds it in place. Why do you get angry? Why do you make that frown, why do you let clouds hover on your face? There! I am dreaming of you again, and I have lost the right to do so.

Hmm…I close my eyes, hoping to see something beyond your face, maybe the face of the child I saw from my balcony today. She was a dear…in the way she was smothering her mom with her babyish questions! Oh! It was so you! Remember how you’d eat my head with all those sick questions of yours! Geez! You tired the hell out of me…

Why don’t you tire me like that anymore? What did I do wrong?

Okay, enough of this weakling-duckling behavior. You are my past, and I have buried you with the rose-petals in my diary. I have deleted every email you have sent me, and every chat conversation that we have had. And I deleted every comment I made anywhere on any of your profile. I have deleted my facebook account (though I wouldn’t have the heart to do that if you had not unfriended/blocked me). I just wonder, you are so determined, aren’t you? I must have deleted your number at least a hundred times tired of waiting for smses that came scarcer than rain in winter before I added you all over again. I have blocked you on my cell, from my messages, and kept checking the screened messages to see if at all you had sent anything. How could you not? After all the intimacy, after saying how close we had come, how could you go about doing every little thing of your day-to-day life without bothering to think about me once? Do you really not miss me? Am I the only fool that keeps turning over the little things you said over every silly topic ever possible?

Why I can’t I forget you? Why can’t I just think you are dead when you are so cold about me? I remember when you would hurt me and then say sorry, I was so ready to accept you back, no matter how much you humiliated me. Wish I were harsher during those times. But just thought maybe you were already hurting, I shouldn’t hurt you anymore. Or maybe, I was plain scared of losing you.

Yes, losing you. But how does someone lose something which was never hers? Just that I never realized it when I were with you. You were always so warm that I couldn’t realize that if need be you could be so uncaring. How do people end everything in seconds, never to look back again? Honestly, I worship you for how indifferent you are. If it weren’t for you I wouldn’t resolve again and again to forget you and move on. That I can not keep my resolve is a different thing altogether. That I am still wetting my dumb pillow with salty tears is different matter altogether. Pillows are so much more understanding than men! They may not talk, but they always offer a shoulder to cry.

Sometimes I think maybe it is best not to feel anything at all. And it was you who had taught me to feel things!

I can not hate you, that’s for sure. Hating you makes me miserable. Unfortunately forgetting you does not work either. How do people keep up with the dredging of real life when there’s a pyre alive in your heart every moment? How does anyone continue to live when they are already dead? How does one go about being happy when there’s eternal gloom casting a shadow over their heart forever?

How do people deal with the aftermath of Love?

Yours forever

P..