May 17, 2011

She's going

And the second reason I chose to work in Bangalore was its climate. The first reason—she. But now she's leaving the city. She's going.

No, I won't miss meeting her. She never met me. Never agreed to meet. I never got to see her. But always hoped to see her. Maybe on M G Road/Brigade Road/Central mall/Garuda mall. Particularly on weekends. Lived two years like that, with a hope. But now she's going. And with her she is taking the distant ray of hope, so what if it never shone upon me.

I'll miss you. Yeah, I feel like asking you when are you going, this, that, and a million questions, but I can't. Because the last time you made it clear you won't meet me, I had resolved never to bug you again. I always ask, you always say no. Been trying and failing for two-and-a-half years now. Want to say a million things, ask a million more, but no. Won't bug you.

I'm gonna feel so alone in this city now, so what if around a crore people live here. Now that you won't be here, it's gonna feel empty. Now that the angel is going, it's not gonna feel like heaven anymore. I feel so sad. I feel empty. (Un)Comfortably numb.

Ain't I a fool to think this way? (Haha... I use "ain't" only because you use the word.) Yeah, I'm a fool. I've lost it all—my mind, my heart. It's funny, I never knew I could love this deeply. Never knew what it's like to love unconditionally, until I fell in love with you.

Does all this lovesick talk sound lame, weak? I'm not weak. True love hasn't weakened anyone. Go anywhere you want to go. You're never away from me. Yeah, you distanced me—nah, discarded me—around 36 months ago. But you're never away from me. You're always here. Always here. A request, though: either come back or help me let go.

I love you. Take care.


"It is strange to write something you know may never be delivered but it is stranger still to imagine it will be."
— Harold Robbins in Never Love A Stranger