Love-Letter (LXIII)

Grumpus,

"Is this enough for a love-letter?" you had laughed off when I had asked our friend to use the tissue paper to write one. Those are the moments I am caught off-guard. You do have a shining sense of humour. Like the diamond beneath the coal-mines (which you ought to explain me how) it needed a revealing -- your chance to laugh, and your right to remain happy. This is not a love-letter that would mush up like a silken mashed potato scoop, so, don't expect the exaggerations.

This was needed because, you are so full of poetry while all I am in prose. So, in the plainest of words I would like to convey that your being is not just strength incarnate, but also virally contagious. All along, I had only known an image of you, your words and your voice as seen and heard by others. But I would duly take the credits of being the sandpaper which helped me fetch the anchor that love could be. Perhaps it also helped you fetch it for yourself. It is so easy to love you, even though our splurging varies on varied occasions.

You made me see the sides to Picasso's geometric angles -- the actual example of the many faces of the same person. You made me see myself -- in an appreciative manner. You made me see life -- in an aura that was so long unknown. We have become habits, haven't we? What is the fun in seeing a plan being planned meticulously, and unplanned immediately, without the alarm written all over your face? What is it to discover that madness is beautiful without your unbeatable logic? I guess poetry and prose need to come together in the makings of an unread, un-thought of novel.

While you unlearned to love blindly, I learned of the passionate palette of life after being blinded by it. 

Wait for me,

Happy-ness. 

PS: This much could have been written on a tissue-paper.