Meira,
When one receives a dust green envelope amidst a stack of official looking envelopes, even though the name is stuck on it in a typed label, one knows the precision is from you. I did not have the courage to open it and carried it with me till I am here, all by myself, in the memories of our cold JNU campus.
I do not wish you each year mechanically, and who knows it better than you and I long to see your munchyplum in smart clothes, rather than in boring, protective ones. I cannot assure you that I would be able to hold myself back when she has a spoonful of maple syrup too many on your fabulous smelling pancakes, but I would try. There are no promises I can extend to you about 'us', for you were correct there, my correctness may be an obstacle alright. But, somehow, your letter opened in me a warmth I was only too well used to. I am happy Chinkiepie gets to gobble it all up now.
No. What your letter did was remind me of all that I had, a loving, laidback life that I began detesting. What went into me that I am still used to it now? A competitive, fast-paced, work-ambition-success life, with no time even to explore the city I visit for meetings. I cannot tell you that I do not miss you, nor can I ask if we can ever return to each other. But sometimes, I too wish...
To see you cuddled in my arms in my shirt, to see us growing up with our muchin' princess. What could I possibly have done to blurt out that decision of moving apart in life? Goddamnit, Meira. Your letter has left me out of sorts. I am incapable of grammar, and most likely, like always, only capable of endings.
Thinking of you, Meira. Thinking a lot,
Nikhil.
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