Letters to the Lost Lover

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March 28



Such days where I can’t even make you hear me sigh. Instead I have to write it down. You seriously have messed me up big time haven’t you? Oh sorry, I shouldn’t have said like that. I actually meant you leaving me has messed me up. But what am I scared about now. It’s not like you’ll ever reply me. And even if you think, your practical mind would probably tell you that I wrote this a day or two before, so no use even thinking about it.

I envied your practical mind. I actually envy a lot of things about you. How are you so strong? How are you willing to let me go? How can you stop yourself from talking to me?
Or maybe, you actually aren’t strong. You are just as scared as any human being isn’t it? Cue denial.

I am starting to lose touch with reality. I actually had to look at the calendar to know what date it was. Such has my life become. I know I am making it such, but how am I supposed to help myself is beyond me. It is like my life before you never happened. The old me, how I was able to cope with break ups must be mocking at me from a distance. But maybe it is because I never experienced such kind of love and intimacy and connection with anyone before. I dated all the wrong guys, before I got you. It’s like my own version of a fairy tale. Kissed many frogs before kissing the prince. A very charming prince that too.

You know, they say, if you truly loved someone, you wouldn’t have to change them. They will adjust with you anyways because they want to see you happy. We both knew this, and we both kind of denied it. Nobody wanted to change for the other I suppose. I did though. You said stuff, and I realised that it is actually my problem and I need to stop doing it. And that is how I overcame my insecurities and my overthinking behaviour. But you ended up saying I haven’t changed a bit.
Sweetheart, you know, if I had changed a little more than I was intended to, you and I both would have forgotten who I actually was. And that wouldn’t have been good. Because in the end, you loved me when I was me. Not some version you created.

Not complaining though. I achieved a lot more being the way you wanted me. But I was hoping you could return the favour too. And maybe that is where I went wrong. Hoping you to be someone else too.

Everything that I am writing, feels wrong now. It’s like I was living a different life all together and it might even be a lie at some point. Or maybe I am just overthinking. Great, back to it are we?

I know you must be thinking that I am blaming you for all this when it is an outcome of both of our choices. But I can’t help it. I am the most emotional one amongst us. And if I start ranting, it is bound to put all accusations on you.

How days pass by so quickly,
But you are still stuck,
In that moment,
It's like a loop.
Lost in a closet of memories,
His Armani still lingers,
You don't know the way out,And you can't stop breathing.
But what is the use of a dead soul,
The love doesn't touch you anyways;
But it knows more stories,
Because once it was alive,
For a love;
Who killed it.

This letter is getting to big and too out of hand. It’s all messed up with random stupid emotions that are not even justified.


I just want to talk.



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