Letter To My Could-Be Valentine
You’re fine, I hope?
I, too, am fine. Not happy though.
How can I be?
It’s the Valentine’s week, which is somewhat depressing and gloomy for most of the single souls out there.
Loitering around the lanes of my favorite market near India Gate, I come across the gift galleries and flower shops – all immersed in red. Red is love. Albeit red is my favorite, too; however, overuse of the poor color often makes me nauseous.
February annoys me; not because I need gifts or flowers but because it makes me wish for a person, whom I would bestow all my love upon. I wish to spoil someone; make them feel special.
But then reality hits me hard and I realize that I have nobody, because I cannot have you.
Almost three months and twenty one days have passed since I realized how intensely you make me feel; how frantically I’ve fallen for you. But I keep chanting that you’re just a crush – a mere infatuation, and would last for no more than a while. Perhaps, this too shall pass. I desperately hope this does.
By now, you must have a subtle idea about how I feel for you, and probably that is why you have started maintaining certain gap between us. You think that I don’t notice, don’t you?
Don’t you fret, love, I’m not going to create any nuisance. I’m a chaos, and I won’t want to mess up with your life. I’ll keep mum.
Time and again I console myself by assuming that if you could have been with me, you definitely would have. For now, you have her. And I do wish the best for you both.
I have accepted that I cannot be with you, not in this lifetime at least. Perhaps, I’m just a traveler and you, the road forbidden.
I have no expectation, neither any complaint. I know it isn’t your fault, but it isn’t mine either; yet ultimately, it’s me – who has to suffer.
Why isn’t love deliberate & planned? Why is it impulsive & unintentional?
Why do we fall for someone without even knowing if they would revert the same feelings or not?
I know it isn’t your fault. Again, it isn’t mine either.
But you don’t have to worry about me, dear.
I’ll be fine. Someday.
Until then, I’ll just pretend to be.