A letter to Self.

Oh look, how tired you’ve become! Not surprising though. I’ve had unenthusiastically been waiting for this day, because I knew it would cross all the bridges of our unwillingness, and make its way out to here. But don’t you worry Honey, I’ve made your bed, out of these words. I hope this could soak all the sadness that your eyes will be precipitating this night. I hope these sentences on a mission, silently will fit along with you, melt into your solitude, and will converse into crystals of accompany at the flick of your demand.
I know the sound of your bubbly voice is fading in the way of reaching your ears. Your fresh cells of livelihood aren’t the product of your inner-voice anymore. And all the charming guts of your self-reliance have forbidden your comeback.
I know you have been habitue of someone else shoulder, and now you have no idea where upon to lay that heaviness.
I know you have already been too much dedicated, that you’ve selflessly pour your selfness onto the wrong hands, yet again. You have little clues of how you could run back to be the person you used to be. To me.
Honey, I will guide you, breathe out your stress. And for the love of god, stop setting perceptions that you’re a lesser person, that you’re fragile. You’re not. You’re a spare of spark, that could but bury numerous forests in a row, beneath the sand in the form of ash. But you would rather prefer to extinguish, against a cement wall, before anyone would notice.
Don’t you remember the while, when all the jabs, of the sharp knife of betrayal, were pressed right against your faithful portion of heart, to which your response was a mere smile. You’re strong, fierce but in the best way, the dreamer of a different world, residing in a region of transcendentalism. You know how vast the universe is, and your soul can be caged by none. From when have you started being so scared, of fearing to be trapped inside a muddy flesh of someone’s brain?
You’ve been mislead, rearranged. You’re a riddle that his wit can’t afford to puzzle out. It’s you who knows to put the pieces right back at their respective huts.
You’re the constructor of the person you are, you had relied emotionally on nobody for years, and you had been seeming to be better than perfect then. Only you give attention towards finding what the silences between your words howl. He hasn’t ever even tried to understand what are you so desperate to convey, has he?
You have patted your back on those exhausted days, you’ve motivated yourself to keep breathing, you have bandage all the damages you did to your fleshes, you have embraced your worse versions, have sang lullabies for them to sleep, you have cried and had made yourself stop. Your palms’ identity was the smell of your tears, they have wiped thousands of sliding drops from the beginning of your survival. Do not commit a sin now by assuming that you can’t live a life without him, or that his presence is a necessity for your well-being.
You had mastered defining your own virtue long before the knowledge of his existence. He matters only because of your fickle permissions towards it.
So, Honey, do not march ahead into that clumsy relationship, if every step brings you pain. Pause for the sake of your lost peace, rethink your desires, ambitions. There are other things to romanticize, Honey, I’ll bring them to your reach, just give up on this pain. Being your own partner, surrounded by freedom is a million times better than begging for love. And if you find a pleasure in the activity, then scrounge for it in yourself. It’s all stuffed inside. And I know you’ll walk over this, crushing every ferocious fragments of facts that dare try tickling your anger. I know you will, and hence I’m writing this to you.
I’m writing this to you, when I can barely imagine craving for a guy out of infatuation, while I’ve hardly have anybody in my mind. In one of these days, where the majority of my reasoning capabilities predict, being mostly sure, that I’ll end up being alone. But for that minor part, for those little chances, curious hopes that reside within me, of falling in love someday, yet again, has dragged me to pull out my hands and type this preachment for an era where love would have risen the level of your fancy unnecessary expectations, would have taken you to the highest high and while you would be in-taking the cold breeze, it would’ve pushed you from the top. For another scenario, where the charm of your beloved would’ve faded, the expiry date of his sweetness would have gone and you would have been totally worn out.

Before I again fall in love, I’m reminding myself to notice how greatly fine I am. So I don’t need to be relying my happiness on any other human in the future.

Amisha Das.

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