You keep asking me why I never write a letter to you. I’m sorry.
It’s just that before today I had nothing to say.
But now it’s been happening again and again. And I wonder if it’s Karma of all the days that I let you down, when I let you go. When I couldn’t talk anymore, for you were too much in love with me.
And I hated myself too much.
We began as good friends. All talk about TV shows and books and movies. Guess you liked how quirky, crazy and totally stupid I could be, without ever feeling ashamed about it.
I remember how we started talking too much for too long about way too many things. How you told me the stuff that you had been carrying around. How I told you the stuff I couldn’t let go of.
The deep shit. The sad shit. The rambles, the shayaris, the writings, the words, the books, the tears, the misery.
But also the laughter, ‘the item’, the kya pagal ho tum, and then It turned different didn’t it?
Then you started feeling something…for me.
And I didn’t.
I remember the time you got me those Murakami books. My heart stopped beating. I couldn’t breathe.
If only I could feel that way, about you, things wouldn’t be this messed up right?
I don’t think I’ve still thanked you enough. Even if I did it a million times, it Still won’t be enough. But all that.. because.. Murakami.
If only I could love a person as much as I can love a book or a story.
You wouldn’t be gone and I wouldn’t be left wondering. When was the last time we talked?
I don’t blame you. You made all the efforts, even after it. Even after everything, you tried. You tried to be my friend. I could see.
But the barrier came between my brain and mouth. The filter that I never had before. The stepping on eggshells to not hurt your feelings.
The not being myself so you start disliking me. But nothing worked. Nothing ever works once the feelings evoke.
So I abandoned you.
Without wanting to.
I forgot about you.
Without knowing it’s what I was doing.
And I left you alone.
I’m alone now too.
But it was good that you fell in love again. And terrible that the same thing happened again. And even then, you tried, you tried to be my friend again.
But I had forgotten you already. And you had turned into a stranger.
Want to know why I’m writing this letter NOW? Of all times, though you repeatedly asked me when I will write a letter for you? And I never gave you a straight answer.
Guess I was just waiting till I had something to say.
You were great. Everything about you. Everything you are, were and everything you did.
But I felt nothing.
I never feel anything.
And it happened again. With another person I abandoned. Similar story. Strangers turned friends, deep conversations, carrying each other’s burden of secrets. Jokes and smiles, issues, writings, fights.
And then I left him.
Without knowing that I did.
And then he asked me to leave.
So yes, I did.
But he came back. Because he loved me. Why do they always have to fall in love?
But I wasn’t gonna make the same mistake this time, you see. At first I didn’t believe his truth.
Was kinda surprised at yours too, remember?
But then I told him I felt nothing.
Still attempts at being friends. I did make efforts this time. The barrier tried to come up but I destroyed it.
I’m a better person now. I can handle it, I thought. Avoidance isn’t good. Why give up on a friend?
It ended up worse than before.
Lost another friend.
This time, I think, I hurt him worse than I did you.
All because I didn’t let go. Until…I realised I was holding so tightly I might as well have choked him.
So there’s you and there’s him.
Both people I wanted as nothing more than friends. Both people who loved me, and I know it to be true.
Both people I’ve lost. One abandoned, one pushed away on asking.
And this isn’t even the only incidence.
I’ve always been stuck with this malady for life. There has always been too many people around me. Too many people feeling too much, caring too much, loving too much, wanting too much. And I, not enough.
I don’t take the entirety of blame. All I wanted was a friend. All I did was be myself.
I just feel sad and hurt and frustrated. Because why? Why? Again and again.
I can’t talk to people I might want to. Give them too much time or attention. I can’t smile at them or laugh with them without the thought crossing my mind.
What if they fall in love with me?
And a greater question, of course,
What if I don’t? Because, of course I won’t. I never do.
The paranoia is there. Always.
And it ruins even the normal friendships I have.
I know what you’re thinking. You’re the dejected lover. The letter’s supposed to be for you. And here I am, complaining because everyone loves me.
I carry the weight of it just as much as you.
Atleast you can love again.
Where do I go looking for a friend?
Loner for life.