Saturday, July 30, 2011
I had a dream…a dream about myself few years from now. It was about me writing a letter and delivering it at your grave…
Little, may be insignificant something originated from the brief intersection of our lives some time ago. I remember the day when we met after a long time. You asked me if I was honest in what I said. I answered affirmatively, and you revealed yourself as the same, in a soft voice barely audible over the noise in the surrounding. I remarked on the karmic connection of our present premises…being connected after a long time. You returned with, "Yes, and despite the technology too."
On the other hand, your affirmation was evidently not genuine, which I could gather little later. I was honest to counsel you from my amateur's seat of clarity. I asked if you truly are where your heart is, because that is where you must be, and stop living on others’ emotions. With your canny demeanor, you replied that you were true about your emotions. My respect for honesty did not seem to impress you with a prospect for your immediate success. Discoveries about your relentless efforts to deceive everyone in your life surprised me. My inevitable decision...my choice to let go followed.
You were like a river singing the same song with the gushing waters, no matter who stops by to enjoy your melody. Alas, you could not realize that a song of love is worthy enough to be true and a continuous one. My thoughts and feelings were never understood, for we had no language in common.
Now that you are no more, and that I write to you after a long time, I feel awkward, for writing to a person like you, who not only suffered while being alive, but also not regretful enough that you bless your soul to suffer more, for sinful deeds of your existence.
May your soul rest in peace, or in pieces?
To be continued…
P.S.: This blog post presents a first view/glimpse of the chapter titled ‘Final Dream’ of my book (not yet published) titled Precocious Truth: Unrequited Love. You may read the prologue for the same here.