I have been waiting for too long; for you to see me.
However it was soon I realised that I couldn’t settle in your eyes which was overcrowded.
I am sitting in my room full of blue memories. The window is wide open and it’s pouring in the odd months of December. News say that some cyclones have bumped into each other but I feel there is unsettled storm in you which has stirred up because you still think of your missed opportunities. The entire Mall Road is wet, dark clouds have covered up my little Shimla. The window panes are shattering as the wild winds are passing by and are getting the rain drops on my desk. Don’t mistake the dried rain drops on this letter as tears. You know I smile often in the odds.
Dear, you always sensed my hesitation. Today too I hope you will read between the lines. But let me tell you, I feel good today. To write to you for the first time, to not say and yet say how I feel, to pen down. Writing letters is act of love.
The post box under this pine tree has been so lonely. During my museum visits it stood alone through harsh summers, drenched in rains like now and froze to almost being dead in Shimla’s harsh snowfalls. My heart aches more for its loneliness than yours. You still have kind me.
And with this, with all my affection for you I pen down this letter and will let it rest in the post box. So that for once it can sense the feeling of love and can feel it forever.