Those Near-End Letters

At night I found themselves almost died. Then I saw them stroked each other lips harder just to make sure, they’re over. That early dawn became the witness how one of them closed the open door. Ah, it was their last battle.

But how did I know whether it’s the decision of both parties? how did I know whether it hurt the one who had the least love more or the other one? and how did I know that it will be a little much easier than acknowledging your eyes told lies better than your handwriting?

They never once trembled unlike your handwriting.

I’ve finished all your letters, you knew yourself. They were telling the only one you had was me. Never did I ask whether it’s me or someone else because I saw lies nowhere between the words you delivered to me. Never was I confused on who was the subject in all your handwriting unlike when I was reading Robert Browning poems, I always couldn’t tell which woman he referred to in only one read.

You hid her carefully between the words you delivered to me. I hated to claim but I sincerely admired you for doing this. But, you didn’t mention you as many as you usually wrote in my letters. But, you forgot we were old enough already that I didn’t need promises and hopes. But, you didn’t say anything about picking up the lily for me anymore instead you wanted to give me the baby breath — symbol of innocence and everlasting love.

Then, you expected me to just joyfully read them as I usually read my letters? You should have expected me to be shattered, too.

“My heart is exploding now!” It screamed real loud inside my mind, your voice, as I continued reading her letters. I guessed that’s how you felt while writing those words. And, thought I could bear one sentence more but no, I was wrecked.
Every love story was beautiful including yours too. When I was the only witness how that love grew, I admitted it grew beautifully right. as I said ‘right’ I really didn’t think I was sane. That was a love who never in a rush, a little step by step it walked, much bigger in each letter, till I met its nearly-end.

I’ve enough with the letters. There’s no good reminiscing how someone slowly replacing me into the heart I’d always belong to. Also, I seem can’t be okay receiving the upcoming letters. You aren’t good at telling lies moreover your handwriting, it will just be honest to what you feel.

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