Dear,

“We suffer more in imagination than in reality,” – Lucius Annaeus Seneca

We have all painted vivid pictures in our imagination. We could beat Van Gogh and Picasso at conjuring up masterpieces. Each in our own way. We spend hours envisaging scenarios that agree the most with us. The pleasure is beyond anything but it brings with it a sweet pain of longing we suffer silently. Everything is so real – in my head!

I have painted several pictures of you. Most of them are inspired by the sparse moments I have spent with you. Some, I have painted along with you.

At numerous occasions I have imagined sitting quietly by your side and watching the stars, or perhaps painting my nails while you simply sit there sipping your beer. We enjoy the cool night air. We share some ice cream – butterscotch – your favourite. I don’t like it. It’s a really boring flavour and I wonder how a person like you – so full of life – would take a liking to something so bland. Some of our favourite songs are playing in the background. You choose the playlist. It’s the mixtape you made me for my birthday. You took no time to understand the kind of music I love. You say you are super perceptive to women. It makes me smile.

I like these little interesting things you say. You once said you wanted to build a robot that would destroy mankind! That made me chuckle. You also said you get cranky and like to be smothered with attention when you are ill. I like it that you admit that.

I love how you notice things that sometimes, others don’t. Or perhaps it’s just your way of looking at things. I love how you can put a person at ease just by conversing with them. You have an easy air about you, and I like it that you know it.

I’ve always thought of you as a word-magi. I like hearing you talk. You enlighten me. I like learning from you. I like looking up to you.

That being said, I would like to think you value silence. There are some silences we have enjoyed. At least I don’t find them uncomfortable. At these moments, I always think you want to say something to break it. But you don’t. I don’t know why. Maybe you have nothing to say.

I’m not a mushy person at all, let my words not deceive you. But, I always smile involuntarily when something reminds me of you.

I am in awe of you. I have never felt this alive, this dazed by anyone before. You cast your spell on me right from the first word. You had me at “Had I Known” and I’m so glad we didn’t start at hello!

You close me out – push me away for lingering periods of time. I swoon in pain, wince in agony – not because of what you do but because of my own inability to hold you in rapture or share your burden – no matter what its weight, or simply to understand.

But let me assure you, I can listen – intently to everything you have to say and you know I will not judge you. I want to see your ugly parts and be awed by them. I want to see your scars, your nightmares. I want to be there at your weakest and your strong. I want to see you fall and soar back. I want to see your fear and courage.

I also want to get your heart racing and want for it to stop. I want to excite you. I want to drain you. I want your whole and nothing less. I want you to tell me your deepest desires and I want to help you fulfil them. I want to tie up your loose ends and gather your drifting esteem. I want to fill you with happiness and peace. I want to see your heart smile. I want to see you succeed.

Do you want me?

Write to me if you do. Write to me if you don’t.

Your silence is all that I have now. Your silence and my paintings.

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