This is a letter to me to remind me how I feel, just one last time before I put it all away. For I have no locus to speak, and nothing to feel. It all started when I was more than comfortable in my own void, at the backdrop of my failing relationship. My first conversation with him was a perfect first date- funny, interesting and full of surprises. Before we knew it, we were completing each other’s sentences and finishing each other’s thoughts. It was a crazy manga night. They say there is nothing more intoxicating than an interesting conversation and by the end of it, we were high.
The high continued for the next week and I found myself cancelling plans with friends just to be with him. Our conversation wasn’t over yet. Our souls had a lot more to say. We spent almost the entire day together apart from the time we slept. We just weren’t there yet. I was in a different world around him, in a high that I cannot explain. We had our second, third and fourth dates. By our second date, we had a random stranger acknowledge the chemistry we shared. “We’re just colleagues”, he said. I acknowledged. “What more could it be?” I thought. “Could two people who share an amazing chemistry have a platonic equation?” I thought.
Alcohol and weed was just an element to the high that we were in. I asked him if what I feel when I am high is what I feel in real. Our souls sought comfort and company in each other. We had our moments, which I didn’t acknowledge until much later. We weren’t there yet. I came back home after the 5 days that I would never forget. At least not in a long time. Our conversation wasn’t over yet. I thought to myself that it was just the place. And the spark will soon die down.
I am just a lost soul trying to fathom what I feel. He pursued. I reciprocated. And before I knew it, we met again.
This time there was comfort and longing. I felt at home around him. It was time for us to take our conversation further. With some alcohol, I found him exploring my lips for answers. I was scared. More so because it felt right. But now isn’t the time. Our conversation wasn’t over yet. I slept over it. We continued in the morning, our lips raw with passion. We kept speaking. It was surreal. It was another day of work and a good evening together. As the moon lit up our terrace, we couldn’t wait any longer. And before we realized, we lay naked next to each other. He explored every part of my body. I lay a slave to my soul. For this is what it was seeking. I couldn’t stop. My body was too numb to respond. I found answers to questions that I never had. Our conversation wasn’t over yet. We had so much more to say. And so little time. The universe stood witness to the most intense night in my life. Mostly, he spoke. I listened with intent. It brought me closer to him. Closer than I imagined. Our conversation wasn’t over yet. I finally had a thought. It had to end some day. The magic doesn’t last. But our conversation is too intense to end, it could only be incomplete. Oh, the melancholy of an unfinished conversation!
His fingers intertwined mine as I felt a pang in my stomach. We were lovers to the outside world as we journeyed back to our respective . It was like a high coming crashing down. I wasn’t ready to face reality. My soul’s thirst for his company only grew more intense. Work became about him. Long lunches followed by our search for answers in each others bodies. Staring into silence at the beach. Dinners. Weed. Half played movies, abruptly stopped by our uncontrollable urge to get physical. Every time we did, our souls spoke. Our bodies, just a medium to facilitate. I had so much more to say. I had to let my soul speak, as did he. Our conversation wasn’t over yet.
Anonymously submitted to ArtParasites