Dear Miss K,
I am writing this in continuation of the conversation we had on the weekend. It was our second date, and once again we had a great time. I promised to call and stay in touch.
When I had some time, I started thinking about you. There is no easy way to say this. I love your smile. It can light up the dark and guide my ship home to port.
I love that we can laugh together, we can discuss politics and religion. We even share the same hobbies, writing and we both have similar professions. Incredibly we are of the same height, and even of the same ethnic background.
I would say you were my long lost twin. I would do that had we met platonically. But we met laconically. On a relationship website. Two thirty seven year old’s of five feet ten height.
We are physically tall, and yet we are mentally deep thinkers. We care more on humanity and its challenges than light weight stuff that seems to interest our “normal” fellow beings.
We are both divorced from our spouses and married to our own laptop. We are both people who love books over almost anything, and we are both on a lifelong pursuit of knowledge. The truth is out there.
There is no easy way to say this. I am afraid I am going to fall in love with you. I am afraid we wont last.
I have made enough people cry in my lifetime. I am scared I will make more people cry if I continue.
I need to be a daddy again. Call me a hypocrite, but I can only do that with a younger wife.Call me old fashioned. I need to have more flexibility to where I want to live. Call me stupid and sentimental. I hate the poverty around me, but the lousy men in blue cricket beats green card anyday. Call me an aging fool. I care less for money than for books.
Do I know what I want? I am not sure. I am sure what I don’t want. I don’t want a relationship that has the potential to make us lesser humans than we are. I want a relationship that lasts till I die, and I want to die of old age.
Behind every man lies a successful woman. I am not sure if you can be that woman. Call me an idiot.
Someday and maybe after a few years I hope to see you across the street. I hope you would be happy and arm in arms with a beautiful child and your husband. I wish I have happiness around me to. Why would I want to do that still?
Because I love your smile. Call me a poet. A bad one at that. But thats the way the Yamuna flows these days. Sluggish and dark.
But I wont be calling you. I am breaking that promise. But I really don’t want to break your heart. I would rather break the fingers that type these words.
I hope you read this somehow. Call me hopeless.
a work of fiction