An epistola for you.



Dearest,

            It’s time I write to you another letter which will never reach you. I haven’t written in so long, so no matter how profusely I apologise; it’ll never do your soul justice.

 I miss you. I miss you more than the human ability to endure the feeling of loss. It’s been years now. I’m on the verge of hitting my second decade here on the Earth. I’ve always wished that you’ll be here, witnessing every step of the way and bombarding me with your advices that I’ve never forgotten. I grew up, and I wasn’t cut out to fit this grown up life. I want to return in time only to stay there. It was so much simpler and bearable. I want the small gestures that made my day back. I don’t want to be the one responsible for initiating them. I want to be taken care of, just as young me once was, not the one who holds a heavy load of responsibility on her shoulders. I grew up my dear, and I don’t like it.

Today, I stumbled upon your number. I wanted to hit the call button so badly, and I did. The voice on the other side wasn’t yours, and I wanted to scream at it in all sorts of agony and pain that this number doesn’t belong to them. It’s yours. Always have, always will be.

A couple of months ago, I passed by your house. This time, I had the courage to enter. The neighbours changed the outer gates. They’re beautiful and new; not a speck of dust on them.  The house, however, was another story. Dust covered every inch of the exposed furniture. The ceiling not as high as I once thought it was. The furniture became smaller in my eyes, and the chandeliers weren’t as shiny as they once were. The pillows and cushions aren’t as puffy, the beds are bare from their usual comfy sheets, and the atmosphere lacks the scent of the detergent adorning freshly washed clothes mixed with newly polished tiles, and the aroma of your homemade, swoon-worthy dishes wafting throughout the entire house. I miss it.


I grew up, but I still long to having your chocolates and peanuts. I grew up, and I’m expected to start a future of my own, one where I’d have to be the one quenching the thirst of these sweet cravings. I don’t mind that, but I miss being brought these delicacies. I miss you.


Image result for loss



To say I underestimated the time I had with you would be a huge understatement. I didn’t think that one day it’ll unwillingly come to an end. I like to believe that I refuse to accept this idea more than anything. I still am living in a bitter kind of denial, so I miss you more every day. It might be easier to swallow the truth, but the aftertaste is unbearable, and I don’t think it’ll ever be eased.


I loved you then, I love you now, and I will eternally love you. But I miss you. A lot.


Forever keeping you in my prayers and heart.


Yours,
The one you used to carry around everywhere.

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