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An Open Letter To The Man Who Made Me Feel The Kind Of Love That Poems Are Written On

( words)
*For representational purpose only.
Dearest soulmate,

I lost you. Once again, I lost you. Honestly, I don't think I can ever bear a greater loss than this. I want you close, but I also want you far. It's messy. Never has it happened to me that taking the right decision felt so wrong. Still, when the flashbacks run through my mind, all I find is a place where nobody else could take me, where there's nothing but peace. I might have said a thousand times to you that you deserve better. But in all honesty, I don't believe in this concept that we get what we deserve. I feel that we earn our relationships through effort, by fighting whatever may come in our way.

That's what was distinct and yet so unique about our bond because the strong core of it was what mattered the most. I loved the way we loved each other, so fragile, yet so intriguing.

I saw you not. My bad that I saw you not, but me in you and that's what I couldn't resist. After meeting you, all the poems and articles about love I'd read, felt like they were coming true. The impossible fictions became reality. You're a promise for one, and a sacrifice for another. My fault is that I promised and sacrificed for the same person. All I will want from you is, to never acknowledge it. Our lovely kisses are getting harder to find again. I'm craving love, your kind of love. So, let's play dead or alive until someone cries. I'll never know how right I am, neither will you. We are just in time, and hopelessly in love with each other.

I think it's going to be different this time to live with all my emotions intact and simultaneously fight a massacre inside me.

No matter how many things go wrong, or how far our hearts be, I'd still go to you, crying, when I'm hurt. Because nothing heals better than you. You don't have to take care of me. Just sit beside me, and I'll be okay. Our hearts and minds are slaves, slaving for love in separate ways. You have my soul to keep unwrapped, and I want you to take it home with you. Everything is over. We're over. But all I'll ever expect is for you to save the way you looked at me. Hold it and keep it, will you? Nonetheless, you remained a story; one which was never read aloud but only reminisced. All I can assure you of is, I'll rightly be yours, in all my wrong decisions, always.

Love, the one you should not be looking back at.

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