I am not sure of your reading this or anything else that she writes, wrote or will write at some point of time in future.

I know not if words reach you, her words I mean or make sense to you in any which way.

Friend, lover that never loved, don’t be amused at the pain of a soul so deep in the mire of feelings, overwhelmed by emotions that deluge her very existence that at times take her by surprise, nay shock.

Stupidity, friend, is what I have often called it and have oftener called her out.

I have many a time told her to move on and not hang on words that were never there, promises that never came or those that were not hers, not hers.

I have laughed at her derisively, laughed out loud in her face, and many more times behind her back.

I, yes, I have advised her, consoled her and confronted her, but nothing has worked not now, not till now.

Delusional, she is, ha, perhaps, that is what it is, a magic potion that sustains without supply of raw material, her feelings….stupid, stupid woman

When she rests her shoulder on mine, I kiss her tenderly on her forehead.

I watch the thin, fine lines of worry crease out, slowly and a small smile dimple her cheeks.

I sit with her though even when she insists she is fine, knowing how good she is at hiding her true feelings , I stay back and keep her company.

The speckless sky is now dotted with dark clouds, a heavy downpour is expected anytime.

I keep the towel ready for the showers.

I know I am good enough yet it is you who makes a difference to her life.

It is you who she yearns for so openly, unabashed of ridicule.

With her grey hair and slow prance will she still look to the window to see you?

Will her failing heart, bear the pain of your sudden appearance?

Will she, so gentle in giving be given what she asks for?

I cannot tell.

But, this I know, I will be around for her at a glance away.

Come what may, come you may or not.

Ps: Post Stephen Fry’s impassioned love for words