Noor, a Small-Sized Mystery

I had written a letter for you.
A better letter than this.
Like you, the letter is lost.
I tried to look for it, knowing I won’t.

Noor
That was the first name in the list of names of my future cat.
A name for when I’ll finally bring her home.

I loved you even before I met you.
Half of it wasn’t even you. It was just the promise of you.

I was scared to name you. Scared to start calling you by your name.
How stupid was I to think that naming you was the requisite to loving you.

The third night you were home, your face kept flashing in my dreams. You didn’t feature in any of the dreams, more like you were the interlude. And when I woke up, all I remembered were the interludes.

Is this what Mum means when she tells me she keeps dreaming of me?

There is never going to be anyone like you.
I don’t want there to be anyone like you.

I miss being woken up to see food in the bowl. Looking at your stupid face looking at me.
Getting told that presence was sustenance too.

I hope you’re happy.
I hope your tummy has flattened and they pet you lots and stay with you the whole time you eat your food.
I hope the laps are warm and fluffy.

And I hope, for myself, someday, to know that it is true.
To be able to say you are happy, and not have it sound like a prayer.

Written for a love lost too early.

Swapnil A. SaaN (moonlights as crookshanks sometimes) is a writer and architect from India, who builds, breathes, and writes, in no particular order.