Should I be happy that she thought of me, and invited me to her wedding? The "Big Day" of her life? Or should I take a breath, pause, and wish I never knew... For I had dreamt of being up there with her on this day!
What they call true love; says that you find happiness in that other persons happiness... So if my love was true; shouldn't I be happy? For marriages are supposed to be a happy occasion and indeed My Love must be happy!
Why then does the throat feel dry? Why is it difficult to swallow even after 2 yrs when I write about her? Is that what Love feels like? I wonder...
I wonder what should I give her as a wedding present! A bouquet full of roses; for she loves red roses! But red roses? No My Love, those red roses wilted away a long long time ago!
She loves smiling faces, she had once said. Yes; That is what I give you My Love... That is my wedding gift to you. My Smile. You have taken it. When; even I cannot recollect. But yes, you have taken my smile away. When clicking a picture, watching a movie, meeting a friend... I am reminded of you, and of the missing smile.
What an irony life plays... You had always thought I write well. And after so many years I am writing with my heart flowing through the pen, only to celebrate your wedding day!
You know I wont come to your wedding. I had promised you, that you shall never see me cry again. And unlike others, I do keep my promises.
Dear Mr. Nandy, Your Tall, Dark and Handsome stranger didn't vanish away.... He was mercilessly bled to death by the very young girl who had promised to take him home one day to meet her parents!
Its a strange coincidence that it was a cold winter when she went away from me... And its a cold winter again when she moves eternally away from me!
To conclude, I will leave this little note for you My Love, so that you may read this and know that it was I who have dedicated this article to you, forever.
My thoughts this autumn are lonely and sad....
A chilly wind from the mountain blows in the garden
The sky is grey, a snowflake falls, the last chrysanthemum
Withers beside the deserted summer house.
I walk along the path in which weeds have grown.
My heart is bitter and tears blur my eyes.
I grieve for the days when we lingered together
In this same garden, along these paths between flowers.
In the spring we sang of love and laughed with youth
But now we r parted by many leagues and years,
And i weep that never again shall i see your face....
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