Dear Noah,
Letter to someone who finally pushed me out of my never-ending reading slump
Noah, it’s been a while since we last met. Tell me, what are you up to now? What’s your canvas now? Do you still think of portraits even when the situation is otherwise?
I find trouble writing a letter, much like the time when you decided to give up on painting. When the world felt wearisome and giving up on oneself felt the easiest way out. Comparing with you would be petty and atrocious of me, but your sorrows, your loss resonated with me. I lived through the worst of my days, but relief came knowing you are around.
I didn’t plan on coming back to reading; with every passing day living in my shell I didn’t realize that I was losing myself in the hiding too, not to the world but me. How easy is it to let things slide off your palm? How easy it is to forget what you love, who you are, Noah!
Heartbreaks do that, they force you into an abyss, pitch darkness surrounding you everywhere when you forget how you look like. When you forget what sunshine feels like on your skin. Distancing yourself from the people you were most attached to because someone close to you left too, I know. How miraculous and ethereal the world becomes if you just allow yourself to see it the way you wish to if you can wish all the same.
When I picked up the book, finally exhausted from wandering into the abyss, I decided to do what I loved the most, what people know me for. I reminded myself that I am a reader, four pages into your tale and you made me more certain of who once I used to be.
Noah, I’ve imagined you and me, talking over coffee about what you really think of Granny’s hogwash ideas and theories, about separating paths with a person you, once, shared a lifetime with, and to tell you what I think of your self-made games. And, to ask you. How does it feel, chasing the sun, walking through woods with a person you have your utmost faith in? I want you to know that you should answer in negation, tell me that you were scared as hell while following him and there was more than one time when you thought that, that was the worst decision any thirteen-year-old can ever make. But, to also tell me that conjuring the strength came innately to you because you were slowly falling into love, the wondrous, vehement feeling of being in love for the first time. I want you to remind me that things come around, maybe tomorrow or in the next couple of years, but they do; when a story comes to an end, everything that once had felt fallen like confetti was but, to bring out a beautiful picture.
I’m eager to meet Jude too, I want to have her unwavering belief in my heart again. If we can’t meet until then convey my message to her, will you?
I, now, know that some people are meant to be in the same story. Even if we’ve met once or had just seen a picture of them if the universe is determined, we will meet; will marvel over how bizarre was to live the past some years unaware of them existing. Jude, it’s okay to give up the sun for a painting, I would have done the same because I know that most of the times love don’t make sense; that when you’re in love you burst into flames. I was with you, gasping for air the same way you did when guilt was plunging you down and when you decided on sculpting your way out so you could be yourself again. You reminded me that guilt can swallow you down, only if you give him the power to.
I don’t know if we can meet or if you will write me back, but I hope it’s possible one day. I’ll be waiting till then on the coffee table thinking about Granny’s hogwash ideas and theories.
Love,
Anushka
P.S. To Jude: I’ll try to slip in the most passionate letter for my lover, to make him fall with me, of course.
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