Echo
What still echoes in me?
The cracking of your voice
When hail dropped it's last stone
And my hand left your hold
The drop of your dry tears
The shivering of your throat
When world drew us apart in cold
What is now ?
From Vegas's Lense
"I am writing the same letters, the letters which were moments in the past. But Pete these letters never got a reply, yet I keep on writing them and posting them at the same address thinking that what if one day you cross that road and open that red letter box as a nostalgia but get my letters in it. I know you will read them with a smile. The same one which brightens my days. I often wonder why you haven't replied yet. Do you even live there? Or have you shifted somewhere else? These questions keep lingering in my heart.
I keep thinking what if we met some other time, at any other place. Would you still find me worthy enough to ask me what you asked that day. "would you allow me to befriend you?"
I still get a smile remembering that.
If only you were rude to me then, today I would have been handling the rudeness of life with much more strength.
How long has it been since I saw you? I still look at your pictures to keep your face alive but I fear your voice will become a faded memory and that memory will soon lose its melody and become a blur in my ears.
Sometimes I want to fight destiny. It has been cruel to us, hasn't? It made us meet only to not meet anymore . It made us smile at each other only to not smile anymore. It brought us close only to tear us apart.
But.....but it made us feel something for each other only to keep making us feel more and more.
Our hearts would have been at rest if our friendship was met with an enmity.
If feelings were met with indifference
If proposals were met with rejection.
If your absence was going to be my fate then why was I given the illusion of your presence
Why was I impelled to attachment when all I was to be left with was severance.
Haah, if you read this you will think what kind of grown up man complaints like that. Right?
But I can't help it, Pete. Time never lets me move on. The storm where your hand left my hold , my clock stopped and the heart beneath my skin refused to grow from there. I still feel like that delighted boy, who was walking alongside you. Your soft fingers under the cave of of my palm were like guitar strings, the music in it were only for us to feel and when you use to snuggle up in my chest and place my hands around you, it felt like I am a nest in the tree and you are the woodpecker who formed me.
Yes you are right
After you faded away in that shivering cold night because the vultures dragged you away from me, I couldn't be the same anymore and I also couldn't be any new. I cried but my tears were not visible. They dried and dried as I saw you moving away from me. I wanted to scream your name, but my throat shivered with the ice of pain settled inside it and I choked on my words.
And now if I take your name, the voice doesn't reach you because you are surrounded by the voices that conspire to keep you away from me. I feel shattered when you smile in their words and unhear me. I take my step back when you don't figure me out in the presence of those thousand bodies that make a circle around you and push me push me away. I retreat back, in the world of my own darkness. Where there is no Pete to smile at me and give me a light to look at any bright path.
So I will keep on writing to you. At Least these papers and this blue ink have no one else between us. It's just me , you and these a b c d .... that I join together to form something that can tell you what my heart feels, what my heart misses, what my heart longs for. There is no one to tear these papers and no one to smudge that ink. That right is yours and yours alone.
The wait is only for your eyes to land on that red letter box , maybe you will feel an ache in your heart, maybe you will be drawn towards it. And if you happen to shower your smiles on my words, I would feel the joy of being alive here. And if you bless this paper with your tears on those words that I crafted and let that ink soak in the water of your eyes, I will feel here that my wounds have received the salve to soothe it. Maybe then I will get the answer of the question I ponder over, Am I even alive?
Will you give me the chance to be alive again?
As always, I will wait for your reply. If you finally decide to write to me back, then don't just simply send it to me. The words that you will choose to heal my heart with, kindly kiss them with your pink lips. I would take that paper and touch it to my cheeks , feeling your softness on them and the affection of it. The kiss that we could never complete, as our hearts were too nervous for it. Your lips that went back when they were just half an inch away from my sharp face, I will feel them in the paper that you will touch and leave your mark on.
Will you even write to me?
Waiting as always
Your V
