Love Letter Writing Contest: The Last Letter
The warm
rays of the morning sun could do nothing to decrease the chill Sarayudevi felt
in her bones. At 85 there was not a single limb in her body which did not pain
with every movement.
Every morning I wake up with the same dream of meeting on you. With open hair, wisps flying on your face, those lowered dark kohl lined eyes and a faint smile on your face you look like a poetry formed somewhere in the thresholds of my imagination waiting to be given a form. Off late I noticed there is a need inside me, a need to see you in my dreams every night just to remember the reason behind my existence.
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“Old age comes with its own problems” she
mused adjusting her thick quilt and turned to her left trying to reach for a
box. Hidden below those bundled blankets and shawls was a huge mahogany box.
Old and worn out, the box eluded a rustic charm of its own.
The golden rays of the morning sun creating a halo around her lent a shine to her silver hair. A criss-cross of wrinkles covered her entire face as she sat hunched on the bed holding the box closely to her face with an anticipated look on her face. Caressing it lovingly like a new born baby Sarayudevi felt its rough exterior through her wrinkled hands.
The golden rays of the morning sun creating a halo around her lent a shine to her silver hair. A criss-cross of wrinkles covered her entire face as she sat hunched on the bed holding the box closely to her face with an anticipated look on her face. Caressing it lovingly like a new born baby Sarayudevi felt its rough exterior through her wrinkled hands.
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Amidst all
those intricate carvings it had on it, there seemed to lay some hidden secrets
underneath. In its crevices sealed with a tiny lock on it, it held some
priceless treasure. As her aged and tired fingers moved on the box it seemed as
if her eyes were looking for an answer, for a secret to unveil itself and a
riddle to decipher on its own. She put her hand inside her blouse and fished
out a tiny key, completely rusted with time and inserted it into the keyhole to
open the lock. She slowly opened the box, the joy of it reflective in her eyes.
With her
shivering hands she took out a piece of paper from the box. Turned yellow with
time the paper seemed to have lines of untidy scribbling scrawled across it.
But the love and tenderness, with which she held it showed it was much more
than just a piece of scribbling. She held it delicately, not wanting to damage
it and began reading it.
My dearest
Saru,
Every morning I wake up with the same dream of meeting on you. With open hair, wisps flying on your face, those lowered dark kohl lined eyes and a faint smile on your face you look like a poetry formed somewhere in the thresholds of my imagination waiting to be given a form. Off late I noticed there is a need inside me, a need to see you in my dreams every night just to remember the reason behind my existence.
I remember
you have always complained that I never say you are mine. But Saru I can never
say that for You are me, an extension of myself and by calling you mine I will
have to separate you from me which I can never do.
Loving you
is, has and will always be the most beautiful experiences of my life for you
define love for me in every heart beat, life in every breath and you define me
by living and loving me like this. The fear of losing you has never been
existent for me at all as I know it is impossible to separate the sun from the
sky. And their love is so beautiful, it lights up the whole sky with its
splendour. That is what our love is like, shining forever.
As each day
passes by and we continue to battle I wonder when there is so much to love in
this world why do people hate each other to end up in wars! I hope this war
comes to an end soon so that I can come rushing to you…. this time forever.
Sharing with you a line by Pablo Neruda just to let you know my real feelings
at this moment;
“My feet
will want to walk to where you are sleeping, but I shall go on living. “
Missing You!
Yours
Manu
Manu
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