This is a second chance. This will be a departure from what I'd written back then. I'm now in the flight and you're probably cradled in your bed, with those military lowers. I wonder which underwear you are wearing today. I wonder if you are wearing a vest under the kurta today. I wanted to kiss you several times. Hold your hands. (I wouldn't have. It broke my heart a little when you told me you let me hold hands just so I didn't feel bad.) I liked your messy hair. Made me want to ruffle it. Wanted to see you lying down on me, with your eyes more restless than your body. I'll miss you. I will not hesitate to tell you how I feel. Don't worry about love. What is love? What isn't love? It's weightless. One should just let it be. I will tell you everything, and I hope you do that too. Your hands remind me of how they glided over me, cupping my breasts and the fat that would peek out from places I wish they didn't peek out from. I feel fiercely passionate about meeting you. Your scent, the touch of your lips makes me want to touch them once again. Let your heart skip beats. May this have made you smile. May this have made you cry a little inside. You're beautiful. I love you.

Letters to him. #5

1 JAN 2017 AT 13:05