Dear Love Of Mine - The Love Letters

By Subhadip Chakraborty

Dear Dream of Mine,

Yes, I am writing you a letter. The old-fashioned way. Like lovers did, in the eighties.

I know we are not lovers yet. But I want to tell you about you. From my perspective.

I was not in the lookout for you, you were not in the make, and yet here I am, completely engrossed and taken by this perfectly penetrable storm in my head.

The other night I complimented you, and I felt you didn’t really believe in the things I said. As if I were sweet talking. Ofcourse I was, I mean look at you, you demand complete undivided attention.

But the point is I meant every word I said. You’re kind and loving, you love the little things, random conversations and walks and talking to the cabbie on the way and even my photographs.

You’re appreciative and selfless. The way you make me feel and say good things about the world that I had dismissed in another life.

You’re caring and not in the pretentious way of checking in, you go all the way till the wheels come off.

And God, you smell good, like home. And now there is a feeling in my heart, maybe you are the one.

Yours truly

Letter II

Dear Dream of Mine,

It’s been days now and I still can’t sleep. You’re always in my head like a song stuck in a loop. The problem is that I’m in love with the song and I want it to go on. You probably don’t remember it, but the other night in your sleep, you hugged me back. Your breath on my neck, you had found refuge in my arms and you slept there tenderly. It felt perfect, that moment made me realise what I was going to miss my whole life. Yours truly

Letter III

Dear Love of mine,

I don’t want to grow old with you. I essentially couldn’t be the old man who’d forget to kiss you awake every morning, who’d not notice your beautiful shenanigans when busy watching the jaded television, who’d miss out on your breathtaking smile every time they played your favorite song and who’d not try deciphering all your magic that I’ve been a die-hard fan of.

The man who’d talk of stories that don’t have you… I just won’t be able to make myself do it. I cannot grow old with you cos then I’d miss all our childlike banter and playful nothingness.

I’m a sucker of the little things, so I guess we’ve gotta stay young forever until life asks for the check.

Yours truly

Letter IV

Dear Love of mine,

You thought I had forgotten you. Those small little squinty eyes, that mischievous smile, how your hair danced in the December breeze.

Your funny cribbing and crying, shopping and tantrums.

My favorite day was the one where we did nothing.

In room dining and talking about the moon, cigarettes and hotel room television.

Just you, breathing next to me. And I, choosing you over sunsets. For you, a thousand times over. Good stories can never be forgotten. They eventually turn into fairy tales. I don’t dream of you anymore. Your memories don’t haunt me. I cherish those moments instead. Tell them to my disbelieving heart at nights.

It says with surprise, “She was once yours.”

I smile back, “No, but you little beating heart, you’ve always been hers.”

Yours truly

Letter V

Dear love of mine,

This is my last letter to you.

You know they always tell you about love stories. The art of making it all work, the happily ever after, but they never tell you about the sad endings.

The hardest part of losing someone is in the act of moving on.

I guess I’d never be able to unlove you. I’ve given up on that.

I want to remember every bit of you. Our stories in the sun, the funny anecdotes and the screw ups, the good moments and the bad ones, you smiling and you crying, holding me for the first time and the last.

I want to remember it all, every second of it, take it to my grave. You are my love story and so what that the ending sucks, no one could take away the memories.

I know we won’t meet again. I know we’ll be different stories now, pages of two different books, as if hurriedly broken apart and tied in new bindings.

But maybe we’d both look at the moon on some rare nights and think of each other.

I love you. I don’t have you.

Yours truly

By Subhadip Chakraborty