Dearest Cousin of Mine,
While you roam the streets of Bulgaria, lighting them up with your friendly passions and criminal smiles, I brush the morning off, a little nobody, waking up happy to be travelling, but wishing it were to you, with you. Such are wishes. Silly wishes.
Mountains, deserts, sea, sky -- apart from trapping us in their eternal enticement, what else do you think they do? Hope, endless hope they carelessly sprinkle; and whosoever in that vast arena of hopelessness wishes to be seasoned, is changed! Your religious momentary exchanges with me, brimming with love and affection, are such. That is all I hold on to.
I thought to myself if all this attention my entirety has towards you, is it worth it? Somethings, replied my kind self, are just invaluable. And the rest? Well, my more free-willed soul told me, they can go to hell. So, you see, every bit of me is, well, torn. Shredded into fine little cubes of, little cubes of...whatever.
I promised myself, I won't write more than a page to you, and even if I wouldn't I couldn't have possibly gone on to express what I feel for you. I am angry with the world that doesn't accept cousins as soulmates, I am thankful to the universe for allowing me to know you from such close proximity. I am happy we share a bond, yet I am hurt that it is only to the blood.
It breaks me that I have to deck up for your wedding in less than two hours. Those sharing my room, are sloshed out of control and I may be too, else I wouldn't have dared to write this, but I am also happy that you get to marry the girl who would keep you happiest.
Only you think so, for you never gave me a chance. Yet, mountains, deserts, sea, sky -- apart from trapping us in their eternal enticement, you now do know what else they do...
In bits and pieces,
Mugdha.
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