Wednesday, January 03, 2007

My Dear - 47

A letter that was lost mid-air

Dear Stranger on the flight,
Just so that you know..
I hate long flights. Especially the ones where I have to sit next to desperate,balding single men, who are just waiting to try their luck with the next eligible woman. I am single, but no,am not looking. or the Classifieds matrimonials should take care of that.So count me out.

And, I hate small talk or personal questions.I'd rather watch that masala movie on that tiny screen than entertain someone with the story of my growing-up years.If you have anything to share,you are more than welcome to do it. But just remember, the headphones are glued to my ears.

And in case, you need to run to the loo every half hour, please be generous enough to swap that window seat with me. I have a reasonably strong bladder, and a window seat should suit me fine.

Food is not an issue with me.Because I usually peck at it.So please don't give me any looks of sympathy.I am NOT anorexic. But I do like practising random acts of kindess and love, and so don't be surprised to receive a nice smile once in a while.It's justout of courtesy.Besides, I read that it takes a lot more muscles to frown.
Take care and enjoy your flight.
The (highly anti-social) girl sitting next to you

who blogs at :

My Dear - 46

To him

To him,
staying away from writing is my gift to you,
not roses nor chocolate nor books I know you'd want to read, because I want to read them too
You lived aloof, maintaining always your disdain of all things emotional.
even though your Bertrand said,
"Of all forms of caution, caution in love is perhaps the most fatal to true happiness"
Your witty retorts, come back lines and sarcasm did well to mask all pain
Alone I tried to be let in, and stayed with all you threw at me
Alone I stayed a stranger, till the familiar bred angst and anger and anguish
as I willed myself away
Now you're gone, and nobody says a word to me about you
nor do I hear whispers or hints about your life.
only your words remain
I choose to keep them
like that box in the attic that you've not quite decided
whether it should stay or be thrown away
Oh, who would have believed that I,
(and you should know)
that I would have lost everything welcomed anything and forgotten all,
if only you had opened the door and let me in.

What have you created?
or is it I?
fated to be knocking shadowed by her past?
to be waiting for a man so strong with tender tongue and iron will,
decisive, opinionated
who makes me ache for him
is it I?
who only yesterday it seems, chatted with another,
hiding his pain and the quivers of his heart from the only one who'd never discount it.
did I give up on you? did your darkness win?
and will it win again if I choose to knock no more?