Letter to Mr No Labels #2 I’m done.

I’m done contemplating what I felt for you because it’s already in the past. There’s no ‘us’ anymore. There never will be. Perhaps, there never was. I’m done trying to see if it could still work out. I won’t be making all the efforts this time. You took your chance. It’s over now. I’m done keeping you in my mind and in my letters. Yeah, I promised you a hundred letters but guess what? I rarely make promises because I know I never keep them. So this may be the last letter I write for you. Or it may not. Depends on where life takes me.

But I’m done making just you the subject matter of my thoughts because I got bored, like I knew I would. And you did nothing to change it. Like I knew you wouldn’t. You’re still the last person I called and I saw you didn’t pick up. The distance you’ve created, it helped me make up my mind that what I’ll be doing is right. You were good but I would be lying if I never told you I did like your vibe. And in my mind I had given you maybe six months before I would get bored and we would inevitably fall apart. I don’t think it has been that long. But ultimately, I was right in thinking what I did.

That’s why I stay away from popular advice and laugh at people who tell me to give it a try. Because I know how I am and I know how people are. And I know the way circumstances change and how something that once felt completely right can start feeling completely unrecognisable. I never see my friendships measured in the long term scale because I know sooner or later I’ll be at this point again. Saying I’m done and meaning it.

I’m sorry. But I told you from the start. This is how it is. This is who I am.



Letter to Mr No-Labels#1 The Time it hurt

The time when you didn’t tell me I would see you today but showed up, announced. It was great.
The time you looked at me and broke into a smile and I couldn’t say another word but, ‘Hey. What’s up? Everything okay?’ It wasn’t us. But I suppose, it has been a while.
The time you called me up, even though you were fifteen steps away. I smiled, until you spoke and it was just work that needed care.
The time I asked you if everything between us was fine and you said ‘No’ jokingly and refused to explain why. I think I’m falling back into my shell now.
And when I overheard someone say that you asked for another girl when you entered the college. Well, it hurt.
But Maybe I’m the one who put the distance between us. All the space that I needed, perhaps it made you drift away.
Or maybe I’m just being paranoid, writing about this while my body is burning up with a fever and I’m more emotionally vulnerable. Yet I can’t shake this feeling, that this drift has formed and we’ll just keep walking on different sides now.
And I’m still afraid of what I would show you when you ask to read a letter and I have nothing good to say.
And I still want to keep my promise. I still carry my pen, and keep you tied up somewhere near my hairband.
But I do let my hair loose often now and I keep you at arm’s length.
I just don’t wanna break my promise and I don’t want THIS to end.
But if I write honestly, you’re not the only one on my mind right now. There’s so much to do, so many people to save. So many friends I keep around for lonely days.
But there’s just one you.
There’s just one me.
And I can’t let you know my insecurities.
So I’ll still high-five you if I see you again.
And if I end up getting hurt, I’ll just let it be.

Letter to Myself #1 Destroying something Beautiful

Dear future me who is reading this,

​I like the sensation of destroying something beautiful.

If I see a beautiful face, I want to carve on it with a blade. If I see a beautiful building, I want to tear it apart brick by brick with my bare hands. I wish I had that power.

Or maybe I do, only I destroy intangible beautiful things and while it may fulfill the purpose, there’s not much satisfaction in it. 

Maybe I am broken. Maybe I just like to pretend to be. It makes you so much real and gives you substance where normality makes you boring. Vice versa depending on who you are. Broken or normal. 

I read somewhere that only broken people like reading as if they’re breathing air.

I can’t remember when I last read a book like that. Actually, I do. It was Murakami’s Sputnik sweetheart and Love in the time of Cholera by Marquez before it. 

But I was different then. I had given away the broken pieces of myself to others and was shoving things down the holes and cracks left behind.

Then I thought I found someone who’d take care of those pieces..the cracks, I tried filling in by whatever positive means I could. I tried emptying the trash I had thrown in myself. But before I could, I saw what I had done. 

I had destroyed something beautiful..that something being myself. Torn down my own bricks to hand over the pieces to someone else. The trash I thought I threw in the holes turned out to be gems..that filled me up like a treasure chest.

So when I scraped out the fillings that suffocated my cracks, and pulled out the treasure from the bottom of my core, realisation hit at what I had done. 

The destruction of something real in itself is quite terrifying but alluring.

But that also depends on who you are. Broken or boring. 

I don’t think anyone truly broken can ever be mended. The temporary fixes would come off the hinges.. the broken pieces would shift either closening the gaps or widening them. But they would never truly fit in back in their spaces.

In the meanwhile, all you could do is wear your heart on your sleeve, see the treasure not as trash and become as balanced between broken and boring as would stop the destruction of something.. beautiful.

Letter for a Stranger #2 Mr Nucleya T-Shirt 

Dear Mr Nucleya T-Shirt,

How about we fuck this shit? It’s been a wonderful day, an okay afternoon, a terrible evening and a horrible night for me. And you kinda look like you’re tired of all the hassle and fuss too while all you wish to do is sleep. 

It’s weird how I find such common things with people who are complete strangers. I saw many people today, many men I didn’t even look at twice but your Nucleya Tee had me intrigued. I waited for a chance to start a conversation. I’m not too good at it but I saw a chance and I tried. Like I try all the time, with everything. Isn’t that all we can do? Make an effort & then hope things fall into place. 

Like they did when I finally found a seat next to you. But sometimes the efforts fail too. Like my conversation started did. 

Guess it was stupid or you were tired or it just wasn’t good timing. This journey would’ve gone much smoother with someone to talk to and I had hoped that would be you. It unfortunately wasn’t. 

Universe has been hating me today. I’ve been feeling low since morning, even in the best situations. Maybe it is the thoughts of going back and having to deal with all the shit I left behind. 

Can’t run for too long, apparently. 

Well, enjoy your sleep. The moment is lost now and so are you to me. 

The Check-Shirt next to you.

Letter to a Stranger No More #21 I like hurting you. 

This will be the last stranger post dedicated to you because I’m shifting this section for actual strangers and you aren’t that for me anymore. I Know you too well now, unfortunately. I’ll still write you your letters, after all, I promised a 100 but it’ll be under a different name. 


Dear Lover,

Why am I so messed up? No, this won’t be another self loathing rant about myself. This letter is to you and how much I like hurting you. 

Yes, you read that right. I keep hurting you and you keep on loving me. I’m using the word ‘love’ which I don’t casually do and never in regard for myself. But in your case I know. I know it because I see it every time I close my eyes. 

The look you had the day you told me you loved me in the only manner you could, holding my hand with music playing. I remember the look on your face, it was one of desperation and longing with your glossy eyes and sweaty hands and yet you were so sure. 

I also remember my answer and how much it hurt you. But I liked saying No as much as I like saying No now. I like hurting you and watching you keep on loving me. There’s a sadist in me that derives great pleasure from it. 

Surprised to hear the naked truth?

Well darling, I am absolutely not what you think I am. If I was half as good as you think I am, I’d be twice as good as I really am. 

I remember your face on the day you thought you were losing me. The same face with the longing, desperation, helplessness and the glossy eyes and sweaty palms. 

I also remember my indifference. 

What can I say? It makes me feel good about myself. But do you really want someone like that in YOUR life? 

I bring misery to people who get close to me. When I say I’m twisted, I mean it in the truest senses. 

And Rock bottom is my hometown. People keep on coming and going, throwing pebbles in or taking one out. But I don’t let anyone make it THEIR home. I don’t need tennants or neighbours or anyone to share the space with. It is MINE. 

Find your own rock bottom if you want but don’t invade my messed up space. 

And that is what I like about you. You don’t come to my home. You keep taking me out of it. But at the end of the day, THAT is where I belong and I carry the pebbles with me wherever I go. They’re in the pockets of my ripped jeans. They don’t leave space for you. 

But all of that doesn’t faze you. You keep on loving me, I keep on hurting you. You like what we have. You like what we do as long as we are together. So I take myself away from you and watch you convulse in the darkness with a smirk on my face because that is what I do. 

I have seen you happy, angry, bored, asleep, worried, never sad though. But THAT look, the one of utter hopelessness, I like looking at it so much that I see it every time I see you. I see it beneath your skin just waiting to come out and I want to bring it out of hiding. 

It would be so much easier to stop all this. To cut you off. To maybe be a good enough liar and make you believe differently about what I feel. 

But I don’t want to. This mess I made is all my doing and it feels so so good. 

I think I may be a masochist too because I love over thinking about it, feeling bad and then doing the same shit again. I tell myself how wonderful it would be for everyone if I had said YES that day, despite every inch of my being and everyone I care about telling me otherwise. But then I wouldn’t have seen that face, the face I didn’t even know you had. And I want to keep on seeing it. So I’ll keep on creating a mess because I am that twisted. 

Now it’s upto you to decide what YOU want. 

This is one letter I WANT you to find and I’ll make sure you do read and understand it. 

Alexi 2.0

Letter to a Stranger #20 Metaphorical rant

Dear Mr No Labels,

You fit into my life like the ring on my finger. I was not in the habit of wearing rings but I did occasionally stop to admire them until one day I found the ring I was so comfortable wearing. It became the sole attraction of my hand and for weeks I wore it everywhere. I swore to myself I wouldn’t take it off, ever. Until somehow, with a misfortune, I lost it. Days spent pining over its loss, I convinced myself to never wear a ring again. But I did still occasionally stop to admire them still, trying them out and then removing right after. But one day I found a ring, or maybe it found me. It fit into my thumb just right. It became a part of my identity in less than a day. And I don’t know what it was about the ring but I couldn’t take it off and leave it behind like I did so many others. Maybe it was that it was so much like the first ring, but in a different shade. I wear that ring even now. Sometimes for days straight, sometimes only when I’m heading somewhere and sometimes i leave it behind for days. I shift it into different fingers quite like I shift you into different positions. That’s the ease with no labels. You fit in right everywhere. But when I wear the ring for days at end, and then take it off, there’s this looming absence it leaves behind. That it IS there, only, not really. It is kind of the same with you. Your absence is like the ghost of that ring on my finger. I keep getting mistaken that you’re right here but then days go without me wearing the ring and I don’t feel the absence anymore. At that point, I ask myself, should I keep wearing the ring?

What does circumstance demand? But no amount of thinking does any good when I walk out of my house, mindlessly picking up the ring and slipping it on my finger, half out of habit, half because of my subconscious. Quite like when I overthink about you in my letters or when someone points out the flaws in what we are to each other. And I keep thinking of the ring I lost and I keep convincing myself that I’m not too attached to this ring. But all that goes down the drain when I’m wearing it or when you’re with me. Even after days of not meeting, it is quite easy to pick up right where we left off and for it to feel the same. Just like the ring I don’t notice until I’m shifting it to another finger. I don’t notice your presence, you are just right there. it feels so normal like you’ve always been here. I do notice your absence though. But it doesn’t take long to get out of habit. 

You fit into my life exactly like the ring on my finger, something you probably haven’t paid attention to. It’s funny how much you notice me but are clueless about yourself and what you mean to me.

I don’t know why I’m writing this letter or where it is heading so I’ll stop right here.

Roboskehskeh roboskehskeh. 

Letter to a Stranger #19 Travelling loneliness

Dear Home is a person not a place, 

​I want you to wake up next to me every morning(not the other way around) till the day I leave. It’s a selfish wish out in the universe made for the sole purpose of existing next to someone else during the only loneliest time in the day. It’s 4 am and I’m on a hotel floor thinking of leaning on your shoulder but you’re miles away and so is everyone else. I’m not alone over here but it’s the loneliest I’ve felt in this past week. Sleep-starved, half-dazed with no coffee in my body, the only person my mind resorts to for momentary distraction is you. It keeps me awake when loud music can’t. It keeps loneliness away like eighty people in a room can’t. 

I’m supposed to call you like you said I should but you’re asleep and I care about your well-being more than your wishes. I’ve been told to stop doing that since everyone can decide what’s best for them but somehow I just can’t break the habit of thinking about you above myself. 

It’s early morning and I can hear the road. It calls to me like it always does but here I am with a pen in my hand writing things that my heart can’t hold. My hands can’t hold the pen straight, quite like my mind with its thoughts but all of it is still going on.

I feel all cold inside even though it’s hot outside like the middle of July and I just wanna share a room with you, not even sit too close but just stare at you straight and hard like I do with no shame. Because it brings a warm feeling inside, something like chicken soup when you’re sick. My eyes are tired now and I can’t see what shape my fingers are making but darling, I have you to stay with me tonight. Now I wish everyone else had someone too.