Nishant,
Hi. Well, this is awkward, indeed. All through our two year old relationship, we never once wrote to each other, depending mostly on voice-notes. Smart phones are designed to obey commands, as you know. Earlier, we had to suffice with our own memory, rather than a super external or a terrific random one. Thinking of my life, I was wondering where to assign myself of those command-obeying categories. Where do you fathom?
Paridhi rightly says I am a coward. That, and somewhere also an escapist. I do not like ugly misunderstandings, and bitter proving of points and slapping of words. The change of location was somewhere desired by me, in spite of our couplehood, because it was already doomed. My senses have been broomed well to take care of my grooming. I found Rishi. He does not feed commands into me, you see. That is the difference. You could say he isn't smart that way, to make things happen as very likely could, but his girl is damn happy with the way he is and likes his silly attempts at pouts and fashion mishaps.
Nishant, you were all that Rishi will and can never be, yet I am content. Goes to show how well I can manage without your smart-feeds, 'study for CLAT', 'do not wear red lipstick', 'where's your car, how will you return?' Rishi, on the other hand, is studious, funny and manageably well to do. He suits me. Which brings me to how ill-fitted we were to each other. We were the best of fabric, bought with attention, that went into a devastation because of catastrophic tailoring.
It still feels awkward, continuing. I will not be so immodest by not mentioning how good too you felt, but you always came with a condition. That kills joy. The shadow on the screen over the letter is of a dusty me, the only thing dazzling is the earring on my right ear, the screen turns mother of pearl from dust. Your Mum had got that for me, remember? When you had given it to me you had said, 'this is yours, you are ours'. I was happy but the happiness was leaking. You were already seeing me as a representative of your family values. Too soon, Nishant.
Unending brawls, and interim hugs do not build a relationship, Nishant. I am not sorry. When I loved you, I did. Now I don't, and I don't.
May you find love,
Ranjika.
Hi. Well, this is awkward, indeed. All through our two year old relationship, we never once wrote to each other, depending mostly on voice-notes. Smart phones are designed to obey commands, as you know. Earlier, we had to suffice with our own memory, rather than a super external or a terrific random one. Thinking of my life, I was wondering where to assign myself of those command-obeying categories. Where do you fathom?
Paridhi rightly says I am a coward. That, and somewhere also an escapist. I do not like ugly misunderstandings, and bitter proving of points and slapping of words. The change of location was somewhere desired by me, in spite of our couplehood, because it was already doomed. My senses have been broomed well to take care of my grooming. I found Rishi. He does not feed commands into me, you see. That is the difference. You could say he isn't smart that way, to make things happen as very likely could, but his girl is damn happy with the way he is and likes his silly attempts at pouts and fashion mishaps.
Nishant, you were all that Rishi will and can never be, yet I am content. Goes to show how well I can manage without your smart-feeds, 'study for CLAT', 'do not wear red lipstick', 'where's your car, how will you return?' Rishi, on the other hand, is studious, funny and manageably well to do. He suits me. Which brings me to how ill-fitted we were to each other. We were the best of fabric, bought with attention, that went into a devastation because of catastrophic tailoring.
It still feels awkward, continuing. I will not be so immodest by not mentioning how good too you felt, but you always came with a condition. That kills joy. The shadow on the screen over the letter is of a dusty me, the only thing dazzling is the earring on my right ear, the screen turns mother of pearl from dust. Your Mum had got that for me, remember? When you had given it to me you had said, 'this is yours, you are ours'. I was happy but the happiness was leaking. You were already seeing me as a representative of your family values. Too soon, Nishant.
Unending brawls, and interim hugs do not build a relationship, Nishant. I am not sorry. When I loved you, I did. Now I don't, and I don't.
May you find love,
Ranjika.
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