I thought I won’t reply. I will sit quietly and make you feel that I am dead (as if you care) but, then I don’t like these unanswered questions, unfinished conversations, un-replied mails, messages… I thought I will mail you back but then I didn’t have the courage… I don’t know why… May be your mail carried proof of your existence combined with your smell. And now it’s not easy to go back to that space and write to you. Its not easy to forget darling that you have seen mad days of my life (you still see) , peaks of my weakness, insanity of my passions. Coming out sometimes in the form of mails while other times in mad pieces of literature. Should I also confess, no one has seen this part of me.
I agree to whatever you have said about me except one thing. I never expected a reply from you. Infact I was surprised /shocked when you replied. My first mail to you was eight months back, now when you are mailing me and saying “not to expect a reply any time soon” I am really wondering about this linearity and relativity of time. Were these seven months, more than 210 days only for me ? Were these like seconds or minutes for you? Your last message was in August. From August to June, it comes out to be more than 270 days. I won’t deny, I did expect atleast one reply, in the early months but then I compromised and said to myself, may be this is how you like, not to be associated with me in any form. I don’t know the number of mails I have sent to you, they all came from the mind and heart which never expected any reply.
I agree that I am “super dramatic” as you have called me but then this side of me only comes out in front of people whom I really love. And I hope, I need not prove my love to you. You know this already. However, this love is without any expectations. I love you because I want to love you. This does not mean I want you to reciprocate. And sweetie, the kind of mad, passionate person, I am, I don’t think you would be able to do anything about it. Neither you or anyone else has the ability to reciprocate that.
The feelings I have for you cannot be shared. Only you and me are witnesses of the conversations which took place between us or of the one side monologues which I have been raining on you for months. You won’t believe but I have tried to concentrate my literary skills on someone else. Even a poem came out just to document my day-long fascination. But, then as always I got bored. After two days not he but it’s you whom I see in that poem. I cannot just cannot write for anyone else except you.
I know you will read this… One day you will definitely read this but don’t worry I am not expecting a reply. Atleast not “anytime soon”…