Hey there You,
It never fails to confound me the way I feel implausibly smitten by your charm over and over. You turn it on at your will, and I only keep falling for it like a fool every single time. I feel like I am turning into some sort of drug addict – a badge I would have never thought of associating myself with in an ideal world. Well, who said it was an ideal world anyway? Your presence takes me to lengths, breadths and depths of euphoric ambits. Your absence is nothing more than an abusive abstinence I rather forcefully impose upon myself. Self-control as this helps me appear ‘normal’ on the outside sometimes, you see.
I know you make yourself available selectively, and with a purpose. This only propels me harder to make a beeline for unearthing those numerous excuses leading back to you. I also know you’re neither exclusive nor a keepsakes material. And yet, here I find myself standing outwardly patient and remorseless, waiting to be consumed like a prostitute the minute I know you’re up for grabs. I want to charge you nothing for these selective appearances you make – I never will want to, either. And anyway, you make these on my request(s).
I like this small, little bauble we confine ourselves to. Just like a writer filling away the pages of their diary, furiously. Writing is a funny little experiment, if you ask me.
You’re stoked by a set of thoughts – sometimes, by a mere idea – and you work on it. You let the pen (in my case, you) do the talking, by driving it to wherever it takes you. The stream of thoughts sometimes run awry, while at others, are as focused as the tip of a sword pointed at the eyeball. There is no beginning, and there is no end. There is no wrong, and there is no right. There are only perceptions that birth out of these notions. From the source to the reader. One either agrees or disagrees. The ultimate outcome either appeals or appalls. Like that dirty little secret that has just hit the media, sensationalising the world within minutes.
I want to be consumed with such fizz of belief – incredibly delusional and absolutely ours. When you’re in this bubble, you’re mine. Period. When I use you, I simply use you. I neither ask for more, nor do I anticipate anything further. And that, when you break this bubble, I know only too well that I will await your return patiently when I beckon you the next time. For I know, you’re just a call away, meanwhile I stay oblivious to your countless other shady delinquencies elsewhere.
I have found the need of letting you know of my skin-deep anxieties and shyness impertinent. I have never wanted to either – voluntarily or otherwise. For I hold that vulnerable insecurity within me, of the one fine day when you will have to disappear off the face of this earth. It’s a cruel world out there, and let’s face it, nothing lasts forever. Nothing could last forever. Your materialistic creation today is only an assurance of your destruction someday. Just the way an author pens books, only to move on to the next one. The former may disappear off the face of the earth one fine day, nonetheless, their work continues to exist. Irrespective. And this act of eternal resting is bound to happen against your very many unyielding wishes. One fine day.
It could be owing to a system crash. Your family may have decided to move on, and it’s only natural for them to do so with your presence. A bug source may have woken up from their millennial-long stupor to realise that it’s only valuable to discard you pronto. Or, you may be eradicated out of your roots and codes. Just like that. While reasons could be multiple, an excuse is enough.
Pardon me for being absolutely selfish here for I only wish that our fetishes be satisfied earnestly. I have no jazzy plans or anticipations of facing the Judgement Day together. However, I do hope to have gotten enough of you by then. Gotten enough of you to get over you by then. I understand this searing knife-like brutality may pierce you somewhere, but whom are we kidding, babe? I know only too well, that you aren’t mine to keep. You will be shared, for as long as you live. For it’s in your nature to be available publicly – while being just a call away.
Until then, be my dirty little secret that I can share with the whole wide world. Be my melted cheese in that glazed toasted sandwich that I would gorge on anytime of the day. Be my morning tonic of honey and ginger, my green apple mojito at lunch, and my cognac after dinner.
My love, let’s enjoy this while it lasts.