A Vintage Print

You say, I have a gift of silence that I carry with me everywhere I go, That's a bloody peculiar way of diagnosing my affliction, pointing out that which I lack; The proper words, the proper diction. Darling, we are doomed to always want more, doomed yet to keep wanting should we get it, Alas we'll never be enough for each other. But on some day, hopefully not too far out, when we are busy reminiscing our silly old romances, promise me this, for I know myself, ever lacking in words, worse yet Ik in gestures, promise me that you shall wait for me again, just so we may get to hear it, once and for all, the silent echo of all that we never got to say to each-other

The sun still shines in this city, very much so, I'm afraid. Summer rains yet to pour down, once familiar walls repainted, the streets glimmering with all that you no longer recognise. You look skywards, and even the crows caw different. This isn't the place that you had left, those aren't your footsteps you seem so keen on retracing back. Barefoot baggage to reclaim, your people aren't your people anymore. Everyone's busy doing everything else. The barista won't take your order, the waitress spits in your coffee, and asks you to tell her that you like it. Some part of this make-believe charade has to be untrue. But here you stand, in the city that refuses to love you back. This isn't so much the unrequited love, as it is about misplaced affections. You can still go walking on that road no one travels to, but you have to return home now. You're a tourist at the place you once called home. The sea tides do nothing to stop you. This isn't you, it isn...

 As far as letter go , this one should be short . I am writing to you , and it's Feburary , which means that I have so much more to say than what these word shall allow me. Look at me shivering , and know that it isn't the winter wind . I wise for you , and summer rain and mini Bombay Bandstand , and kesar ki chai , and but all of this is so needlessly cliched , so hopelessly pretentious , I wise I were this guy , and I'm so grateful that I'm not . How does my awareness do anything but feed into my own self righteousness . Oh god , not this again, let this be love , let this be about you . But I want to be able to say that I love you without feeling the need to make it sound any more grandiose , because ultimately it's just that , we love like so many before us did , like so many after us would . We wise to pretend how we are changing the world by being the people that we are to each other - and maybe we are , I don't know - one person at a time , but I have to ...