You.

Sometimes, I do think about you.

I know I should be doing so everyday, but routine beckons and sometimes it’s not so mundane as I assumed it would be. I was warned by everyone, including my so-called conscience, that I would eventually get used to your absence. Heck, I recall you told me the same. But would you be happy that it’s final happening? That I mostly don’t spend the nights thinking and worrying about you? That I have somehow learnt to accept the fact the sea would treat you properly, despite its roughness? That I have accepted that our longest conversations would last for 20 minutes? That life goes on, perfectly, might I add, when you’re not around? That I do wish to get out of this city for a while and figure my career out?That emotions don’t begin and terminate at one’s will?

If you were to read this, I’m sure you would hastily conclude that I’m falling out of love with you. And I can’t really blame you for that because what I’ve written above DOES seem so blatant. And although I choose to be honest about my anger and irritation regarding certain things, this is one of those that have been holding back. However, I want to sincerely assure you, that it’s not what you’re thinking.

There was a time when I preferred going with the conventional definition of the phrase, to be in love. That constituted a big chunk of my teenage. I was convinced that it was supposed to be all about texting day in and out, talking twice-a-day, holding hands, meeting thrice every week and going out on romantic dates. The boyfriend automatically grabbed the first position in one’s priority list, even during exams and vice verse. The list of expectations was mandatory. The boyfriend was supposed to handle my PMS and bouts of low. He was expected to reply immediately to a message. We were expected to be there for each other at a pinch.

But all bubbles burst. And this one did, when I stepped into my twenties,and then right into a long distance relationship which was never meant to be.

My perspective regarding love did change in a way, but somewhere deep down I held onto my expectations. I expected him to tick all the right boxes in my head. And when he didn’t, I resented it. I tried my best to change his ways, which was wrong because character flaws are meant to be.

I bumped into you, as fate would have it, at a party I hadn’t intended to attend in the first place. How romantically cliched! However, don’t get me wrong…I loved every bit of and I love to reminisce those ‘rosy’ days, as you like to call them. Up till that point, I had never understood the concept of chemistry. It was amazing, to say the least. I assumed it was temporary, but you were relentless. I could only pretend to avoid your attention, yet crave for it in its absence. Those messages via social media could have been easily brushed off, and “not another long distance relationship” could have easily been cited as a reason to end it, right there. You would have gradually faded from the picture, and life would have gone on. But I lingered, and I don’t regret it till date.

I don’t regret anything but I’m afraid I’m trying to make you tick all the right boxes in my head. A year and a half has been partially easy and partially difficult to figure you out. I have always steered towards them introverts, and this time it’s not different – you reveal bits of yourself after long intervals. I would like to believe that you completely trust me but I know that’s a lie and I don’t blame you, because I do have a few shenanigans to my credit. I am sorry. Moreover, you and I are poles apart. You say opposites attract but sometimes I feel we are too far apart to be pulled towards each other at various levels. A simple thing as your taste in music irks me, what about the rest? You say everything has a way of working itself out. You have accepted me in spite of me being a volatile, emotional and an occasional nag of a girlfriend whilst I’m having a hard time reciprocating that acceptance. You like Nescafe and I like filter coffee. You love staying home while I’d love to get out for hours together. Friends are not your thing, whilst I enjoy their company and love making new ones. The list is endless. Why do these differences bother me so much? Why can’t I just be satisfied instead of always wanting more?


I wrote this two months ago and let it rot in the Drafts folder.

I’m always thinking about you. Even though I think I don’t. If you were to read this, you would be confused. And how can I blame you for that?

It bothers you that I’ll bask in the attention showered upon me by other members of your sex.  I can’t stop those compliments. It feels nice to have my hair and smile noticed, but it makes a big difference when you say I’m beautiful. Why can’t you say that often?

Your visit this time was a whirlwind. Why, we were just laughing uncontrollably over the silliest of things on Thursday. I couldn’t stop giggling because your stubble tickled my face. We quarreled like children, and you’d blame for being a drama queen. My tantrums lasted until I saw your face. You were aggravating at times, but it doesn’t matter. I’m a different person when you’re around. The nights are peaceful, when I know that, for a change, you’re only a few miles away from me instead of a thousand.

I love gifting you stuff. I enjoy flaunting my creativity when it comes to making them. But I’m worried that I’m overwhelming you with too many memories. I don’t know if you are used to having them turn into nightmares when life takes a nasty course. What if this post along with you is all just another phase? That’s frightening. I’m tired of phases. I want something that lasts, and I know you’d agree with me on this one.

It’s been 14 hours since you left and I’m miserable. I’ll miss hearing your voice everyday. I’ll miss being that person I am, when I’m with you.

See you soon.

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