“One Retrieved Letter”

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Source: Instagram, clicked by Pratyay Chakraborty; Insta handle: pratyayblogger

To
The World

The sun’s shining gay,
And the clouds are scattered throughout.
Mesmerizing tinge of azure above. Young men and women holding hands and making promises they will never keep. People pretend to be civilised and more sensible than ever. Nation’s progressing. They prefer, “developing” over “underdeveloped”.
I was aging and was about to bid adieu to higher education. My mother left me, when I was 6. She left me forever. No, she is alive, fat and moneyed. She wedded a rich drunkard, who when sober, gives her money, and when not, gives her more money.
I needed someone to be with, to upload DPs with. Solitude, every night, used to laugh at me. I was falling everyday in and out of love, till I met a girl.
I was already smitten. Sleep started betraying me.
Oh, the symmetrical face, the winged eyelashes, the perfect smile, the crafted nose and the blue eyes. I mustered up some courage and confessed to her.
I bid thanks to the almighty that she accepted my proposal. I had finally ascertained my perfect match. Oh, the match was from above.
Loyalty and trust, made us unique, which exuded tremendous affection for each other. We used to sleep together, semi clad. Felt the warmth of our persons, slept perfectly fine.
She embraced me, made gestures with her fingers on my bare back and caressed.
Fondled each others valleys and gorges, peaks and hills. Felt love, stayed awake till the other slept, pampering each other’s hair with cool fingers.
The most enthralling part?
She bled, when I bled.
I dealt with her moodswings and so did she with mine.
And now? She is gone. She left me like my mom did. But she is in a different place, where she doesn’t need money to be content.
They ridiculed her, mocked us.
I stood strong, but not her. They jeered at her and she loosened her hold from everything. That terrace.
Innate it was, little did they know.
Affection was illegal, immoral and illegit, I realized.
“How can you not want children?”, they hurled abuses at us.
I am alone again. I feel like a prisoner in my own dreams. Can’t care less, not just yet.
I believe, she still bleeds after every 28th day, with me, dealing with my moodswings.

From
A prideful lesbian

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