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The Letter

umlika eman By umlika eman Published on November 30, 2016

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Salam

To my dear companion,

Today, on the 26th of November, I call upon you, again. I need you to listen to my story again, patiently. For I hope I will bore you in a blink. I know that you could care less of my story, but likewise, I stopped caring for anyone to be amused by my story, including you as well.

It's one of those days, or every day is one of those days. I sit here blankly, having no expression on my face at all. It's empty like a deep, barren well with no water in it. One can no longer read my facial expressions anymore. It's one of those days; but today, or I must say many of the past weeks merging into one, is hard to live through. Today I realized that that plastic slide which I climbed from a decade with my socks on, had some devil sitting right at the place where you actually can stand on your feet. I was too busy climbing that smooth slide that I never saw the huge horrendous devil waiting for me to reach its port of call, just so it can push me back and put me to the point from where I started climbing.

Today I sit here yet again, in November's cold breeze, on the eve, at sharp 8; biting my tongue with my shivering teeth, my dry eyes wandering in all four directions, hands clutching the arm of the chair and feet into the ground because of all the fears in me. The fear that my tongue will slip and say your name and I will shatter into millions of asymmetric pieces. The fear that if my weary eyes will stop looking around, they will show me the alluring image of my murderer. The fear that if I let go of my hand from that arm rest, they will find their way back to the hands of a slaughterer. The fear that my feet will carry me, running to you, the unfaithful. Yes, you are the one who did it all.

You hypnotized my foolish mind to think about you, only you. You injected a potion in my vessels, three doses each day for years so that it will signal my neurons only what you puffed in it. You re-arranged every single organ of mine, so I will breathe when you want to and not when my breathing is too irritating for you to handle. So that I'll be alive when you're around and be just a corpse with a heartbeat when you're not. You took delight in everything you did, and when you were worned out, you left, without winding up the mess you were the cause of. You left, carelessly dancing, like a hair would do when pulled out of a candle's wax and at the same time your alienation felt like an old, irate thunderstorm.

Every other misfortune means nothing in front of the loss of you. You made all my happiness cry and scream like a wolf cry and scream for the moon. I wrote hundreds of thousands of letters on the moon you're very keen of looking at, but they all went unanswered, but I think its alluring. They tell me to forget everything about you, but whenever they call you perfidious, I smile, shyly. You tell me; what was that cursed thing I did to make you drift away? Wise men say that God won't give you more than you can't handle, so I guess, my God thinks I'm a heck of a strong person, whereas I think the opposite.

No one sings my songs here. I play all those songs I've written for you with my old violin. They're the very aches to ears now, for they only suit with your melodious voice. I lit hundreds of cheap cigarettes every day just to enjoy the performances of smoke, how it dances like you. I envisage how you dress nicely to meet up with the girl of your dreams. How you would slick back your silky hair. How gracefully you would wear that 2-piece suit and how your strong, protective hands would hold red roses for her. I abhor her so much. I envy everything and everyone that may get to see you and see you and see you and may live in that fresh air.

       I've heard my friends say foul things about you just to make me feel better, but I know those all things are not truth. I know you, no one can fool me about you. But sometimes I want to curse you and punish you for what you did, but I never do, because you don't burn the house you live in. I desire to wish for you all the unfaithful people in your life so you would come back to me, but I can only wish the best for you. I wish that your hazel-green eyes would see all glitters and rainbows, and your perfect ears would hear the laughter of your loved ones. But I also wish for you to remember me after all, my remembrance doesn't come with harsh reality to you, does it? I wish it does but may God not...

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