non-billet-doux
2016 April.
Hello. How are you? How are you doing? How's everything at your end? I hope you are well. I am doing pretty good as well, keeping busy, trying to be at least, feigning happiness where I can. While I am happy to hope these days, only awaiting your return. Yesss, I am sulking these days, in a funk, but you know I can't stop telling you what's going on in my life. Something you knew so well, one thing you were familiar with once. So, here you go! My exams are finally over. Yah! I am free as a bird! I am writing to you at the earliest as soon as I could, I swear. I have tried my best like you had advised me to. I really did. I have a good feeling about the outcome this time. I am fixing to get really good grades, I promise. We should always keep our word even if we can't keep ourselves, no? I am giving Kainat a hand nowadays helping her with the chores like you wanted me to because she is the eldest, shocking, I know, hehe. There I concede her superiority, happy? And okay fine, I am helping out Dad too. Though to be fair, I feel like he is taking advantage of my generous mood. Ha-ha. You will be very happy to see me doing all this when you come back. You are coming back? Aren't you? I am doing all that I can, so you can come back to me. I am missing you, Mom, so much, so so much. I know I was never, um, I haven't really been very expressive toward you. I never showed how much I loved you. So I thought to let you know even though I am so wroth with you, still I love you the most. Yes, Mom! You are everything to me but I know I can never be good enough to be like you. This is what I've wanted to tell you so many times but didn't. All my life I never had to pray, you were always there I never needed to, and because of you I never looked for a temple. That's why I always turn to you. Mom, can you tell how much pain I am in right now? Even now? Can you still fix it? Make it better. Somehow. Only you can assuage me that I haven't lost my place in your world. Only you can heal this hollowness inside me. Only you can help me make sense of why I am still here. Just try to finish your work, and come back as soon as you can, please. Here, look at this. I want to share something I recently read; A year has passed since we looked at each other, hasn't it? A year has passed or a thousand suns have died. Where are you hiding? Why can't I hide with you? Why you abandoned me like a painting waiting to be perfect?
[This here, there were traces of pentimento effect right there. But she shrugged it off. She had read that passage and liked it well enough. So she wrote it down here right now]
Has it really been a year, I don't know. Reading it reminded me of that. You do know by now, why I am so mad at you? You were never like this before, not ever, were not, ever. You know what I am talking about. Don't you? Don't you. This is my 23rd letter to you. You haven't replied to any of them. I wrote to you but you didn't reply to even a single one! How can you do that to me? Mom? I wait every weekend for your letter but I guess you have forgotten the way to our home, or perhaps have forgotten me. Respond this time, please, please respond to me. I know the-
And then she had to stop. She had to stop writing, so she stopped writing. It didn't even last a song, this attempt to reach out to her mother. Then she stopped writing altogether, putting her pen aside, pushing the nearly blank pages away from her. Her hands were shaking so badly by then, she had no choice. She couldn't keep them from trembling. She balled up both her fists, shoving them between her knees to get them to stop shaking. The pain wouldn't let up, she couldn't ease into her song that was making her really sad. She hadn't been able to. She was still hurting, it still hurt so much to think. Though she had exhausted her ink on paper just now. However. She was neither out of ink nor words but her tears wouldn't let her continue. She couldn't even see clearly by then. The tears were what they were, it was the deluge that was too much. This stillborn song. This song in her heart was tearing her apart. All she saw on paper was an inkblot mess. She tried so very hard to remain here, to dwell within this music, sharp staves stabbing her brutally but to no avail. It was useless, all this love for others, she was tired, it was so useless to feel this much for the otherness of others. It was hurting this much to feel. What does it matter? It didn't matter, by that point it was all moot. Her stupid hand wouldn't stop shaking. So she stopped.
