melancholy

If You Think Love is Easier Than Quantum Physics, Then You’re Wrong, and Here’s Why:

Watercolour by  Conrad Roset

Watercolour by Conrad Roset

The nature consists of two fundamental principles: atom and void.

An atom could be anything. A molecule to a thought. And when the universe came into existence, from what I have learnt so far, (Ignore my lack of academic knowledge) it came from one big giant atom that collided around the void it surrounded and burst into various shapes and sizes, each indestructible. I often wonder what happens to them after? Could they be looking for each other? Is that why they cluster when they touch each other and then combine into one? Could these atoms now be people? And are we made from the same atoms? Is that why I just keep coming back to you, collision after collision, to fulfill a destiny?

Watercolour by Conrad Roset

Watercolour by Conrad Roset

I think of you in every way I can. Yes, I think too much at times, as it ridicules me, mesmerises me, and somehow leaves me astounded for I find no reason to think of you and yet end up thinking of you all the time. Forget what I wrote about atoms clustering into people. Could thoughts be atoms too? Is that why I am always thinking of the other atom of my kind that I seek? And could nature’s principle be so bloody true that when there is no thought of you, read atom, all I am is void. I have always believed the same atoms will keep coming back together. And here I am, talking to you after years when I did not know if I ever would wish to again.

I do not know what mood you are in, or how you would take up this letter I write to you. For the last time I wrote one, it came out pretty sad and depressing, contrary to it’s occasion. But this morning as I woke up, you were the first on my mind. You made me smile even before I started the struggle with my eyes to open them. The thought of your body against mine for a moment made time seem it does not exist. But then I do wake up to the real world, for I have to, if I ever have to hold you in my arms. And I decided I cannot keep what I feel about you to myself. It is you who I think of, and it is only rightful I let you know, for you could let me or stop me the next time. I never know if you would wake up thinking of me, the way I do. Smiling at my thought, as unattractive as I maybe. And wishing you in my arms.

And I do not force this upon you. I have long accepted, you cannot expect people to feel the same way about you as the way you do about them. Each is passionate of other in their own way, some much some less. I’m very of the former when it comes to you.

Today, when you sent me the pictures of you with some other guy, it burnt me deep. I would not say to you then, but maybe I did. Then I realise there is not much I can do about. I just open up our old letter, and as I read that, I realised I had already accepted that you have a life more than me and deservingly so. Why would I rule your life with my words when not even half of them are happy. Then I also realise, I promised much to myself when I wrote the letter to you, and I keep them for good too. I get over the envy, I convince myself of a hundred odd thoughts. And just as I do, it rains.

I get jealous of how it could touch your skin. On which I could not lay my hands upon.
I get jealous of the wind, how it gets through your clothes, closer than my shadow could.
I get jealous of the smell of rain, for it could bring a content smile on your lips, I might struggle to.

Watercolour by Conrad Roset

Watercolour by Conrad Roset

And when you are so damn jealous of nature, how would you even envy someone being less close to her, are you high, bro? I ask myself.

But then I think of you again and tell myself, someday, just someday, and drop the cigarette. And the envy fades just as the smoke does. I look at your eyes, the brightness of the sun in it and the beauty of your face, the stars and the moon would fade.

I just go back to work, hoping you are happy and beautiful and that I text you at night, fighting your voice in my head all the time.

I like it that you sleep before me, and I still think of you, with a picture of you in my mind, and then I see the muted dreams of us.
The joy I could never explain. And as I lay in bed now, I still wish you in my arms, your lips on mine and your breathe on my skin. Your giggles and your smiles and your blush when you realise you are the most beautiful woman I have ever come across.

You could be wondering why I write this to you now, but do not fret. I write this to you out of guilt. A guilt of stealing the most intimate of you in my thoughts and dreams without asking you. I only feel I let you know of this, but neither do I promise I would stop such even if you do not appreciate, for I do not know if you feel the same about me. I fear to ask you that.

But what you also need to know is, I would stop writing to you someday, but not today. For my thoughts have been all about you today.

I miss you bad. I miss you this fucking bad. Smile. Kisses. Hugs.

Submitted to ArtParasites by Darshan Jain