Magic Moments

If words can travel to you... Dear Love, I don’t know why I am writing this. It feels like writing to the void. Perhaps the envelope shall never be opened. Perhaps my words shall never be read, never be replied. My questions shall never be answered, and my feelings shall just occupy the emptiness left behind. I don’t know if you even exist. I don’t know what became of the war, what devastation it caused. I don’t know what became of the thousands of soldiers; how many lives were lost, and if anyone at all escaped that fate. And it’s killing me. It’s eating me inside out. Perhaps I’ll tear this up. I don’t know what more to write. Even the ink is blurred with my tears. No, I didn't cry, till today. How am I, you ask? I’m living, eating and still breathing. I wonder how. I wonder why. How are you, if you are still there somewhere? And if you are not, then how’s oblivion? Should I join you? I don’t want this to be a letter to your grave. Return if ...

Dear Me, I am so proud of you. I’m glad to have you as company in my solitude. You are precious; you are special, because you are you. Spending time with you is such a delight. I am always in awe and wonder by your level of imagination and the path your thoughts take when your mind’s wandering. You are the director of your own movie. I love that fact. You do everything with passion. You read novels now-a-days getting completely involved in the story and allowing your thoughts to go astray. I wish you had done that last year too, and not indulged yourself is light superficial reading. I’m happy you are now the way you were, before chasing after illusions. The creator in you is my favorite. She paints sceneries and abstruse musings on a whim. She loves to just hold the brush and play with colors. She creates childlike crafts with complete dedication. She writes her best masterpieces, when overtly emotional or hurt. She still jots down her feelings in her diary as ...

Dear You, I saw you there. Behind the façade that you pulled off, behind the masks that you wore, I recognized you. You tried a million times to hide from me, but I found you. And I’m glad I did. I’m so happy I did. I have missed you. Why do you choose to hide? Why do you run away? Why can’t you face me? You think I won’t accept? Accept is such a small excuse, my friend. I’ve come all this way just to make myself believe that you exist. You don’t know how happy I am just to be able to meet you once again in this very lifetime. I had assumed, all these years, that I lost you forever. People change. Beliefs change. Life happens. And I am okey with that. The person you were ten years ago is not the person you are now; I understand that. That accident changed your life. It changed ours too. We lost you. You didn’t contact us while we spent our days grieving. The loss was too great to handle. And I’m not complaining. No. I’m sure you had your reasons. And I won’t ask ...

Dear You, It has been several weeks since I last wrote to you.  I didn’t know what to write about. About your songs that I keep listening to, day in and day out, in a loop; about the forums that I regularly visit and write in anonymously; about the fan fictions that I read about you; or about the doodles that I make of your name in the corners of notebooks while making futile attempts at studying, or about the multiple times I gather courage to call you, but cut the call just before it connects. I don’t know what stops me. Perhaps I fear you have forgotten me in these three long years. I don’t want to know it for real. I want to hear your voice, but I can’t bear it if you don’t recognize mine. People here adore you, as they do in the rest of the country. Every café, every shopping mall makes it a point to include your song in their daily playlist. Every cab tunes in to listen to your interview. And the neighbors include the latest updates about you in ever...