With T a s t e

Ignore me if you must, mon cher. Never pick up when I call you; don’t respond to my letters; avoid me in person. You must ruin our friendship of ten years, just to … for what?

What could your motive be?

Ignore me, if you must, mon cher. It must bring you some joy, some secret pleasure in thinking of my suffering. Perhaps, not thinking of my suffering.

You must be so oblivious to others’ feelings that I must not rise to the level of consciousness within your being.

I must be simply non-existent in your mind.

Ignore me, if you must, mon cher. Pretend that you did not tempt my foolish heart with sweet nothings, with goodbyes of ‘Ciao bello!’ Pretend that you did not once ask me to move in.

Prematurely.

Pretend that it is all nothing.

Perhaps some years down the line, you will also pretend that you did not kiss me as you held my hand in a dark theater, as your dark musk enveloped my soul, and I, for a moment, rejoiced in something that was never to be.

Ignore me, if you must, mon cher.

Ignore me, indeed.

But

do it with some taste.

The way you do it now is rather ugly.

Originally published at worksdays.blogspot.in on April 15, 2016.