I’m low. I have alcohol in my room. But I don’t wish to be high post midnight all alone. For if I am, I might end up writing to you again, this time starting with a ‘High-low’ in the stead of a ‘Hello’ [Dear me, I pity my sense of humor. But I surmise this isn't no sense of humor at all]
After 45 minutes of not biding by my wishes.
My dearest R,
Do you remember Lucy with the sun in her eyes? Can you recall the beginning of it all? Was it the April showers or the last poem by Tagore?
Remembering our old days does not bring nothing at all. It is arid here. The heat burnt it all. Lucy is antipathetic towards me (all over again) for her own secret reasons. She now saves butterflies and fireflies for her new amours. She has none whatsoever for me.
The max that I could do was to tell the person I’m dating presently as to how badly I still love her, that too when he was high, and more so when his voice sounded like one of my former Romeo’s.
I have fallen for and out for many such Romeos. But if there is a Juliet that I fell for once upon a time, it has to be you Lucy.
It perturbs me to think that I’m nearing 20 and not a thing has changed when it comes to you. You are the only thing that I can write about (if at all) with black ink between parallel lines.
Take me in, my beloved. Apparently it might seem that I have carried on but I could not move an inch from the Standard 6 class photograph. Given a chance I can still spend my days running my fingers through your disheveled hair on an extremely long bus journey.
And I’m not one of those who say that they are not ashamed of the way they feel. I on the other hand am truly ashamed of the way I turn, for I would never have turned this way if there was none like you. You are the only Lucy that makes me turn the way I do.
p.s: No pies for guessing who Lucy is :P