Letter to a Room

Hey,

With the beginning of this year, you happened to me -- a nightmare I had to encounter as was justly made aware from the other room. All of your seventeen by twenty two feet, clubbed into petty cubicles and pettier personalities tormented me to a devouring extreme. The moment the door opens, your hostility greets me with a demand, perhaps conveying that expecting anything else was my crime.

Really, what were you? We will not speak about your worst. I am leaving you in minutes and I do not want to carry a bitter aftertaste. However, it will not be too detrimental if you regularly remember that you house souls, and couple of them, extremely good ones. Owing to your nature they are drying up too. They do not deserve your nastiness, your dirt, your filth. Souls are nurtured in rooms. You do not do that. There is no warmth in you. Grow up, you know. Look at the souls who have lent me their chairs, their cubicles, their computers. Learn.

Having said all of the above, I have survived you. Sometimes with my defeatist surrender, most other times with my victorious madness, I have emerged more humane than ever. I am a winner as I leave you with this letter, which I am sure no one else ever has, or will. When others desert you, read this. Read and find some warmth, which, in spite of myself, I leave for you. For I am, unlike you, a room of gratitude. I will not miss you. Feels so bloody good to say so aloud. Utterly despicable that you are, I will not miss you. 

Bye!

KS.