I have always wondered how it would be to write a letter to you. How traditional, old fashioned and sweet would it be? I have spent many lazy minutes between the crazy hours wondering what I would put in the letter if I wrote one for you. But now that I have begun writing, words elude me. Thoughts are coming at a rush, like waves crashing on a shore. We have always communicated best with emotions rather than words. But it is high time I wrote a love letter to you. I have tried to write whatever thoughts came to my mind. You know how it is – everything at once and then nothing at all. I know that even if this letter does not make sense to anyone else, you know me well enough to understand what my thoughts are.
My heart beats for you. There is no other way to put this. Any less, and I would be cheating both our hearts, any more feeling – no, I don’t think there can be anything more sincere and hardcore than telling you that the life force of my very existence constantly thrums for you. It might not be biologically possible. But I think it is technically possible to tell you that every time it does beat, I know I am thinking of you on some capacity. It might be in my mind directly, or it might be subconscious. But one thing is finite. I love you.
There. Those hackneyed over used words. I used to scoff at anyone saying them – they sounded so insincere when people use them to get what they want or as an automatic response they are expected to say. You had me at those first words of yours. ‘Don’t say I love you unless you mean it. Every time you say those words, imagine them, feel them originating in your mind, flowing through your veins to either your throat, to come out as voice, or to your hands, to come out as writing. Never say those words automatically. Feel them inside you every time. That will make them more sincere.’ And till today, I follow that. I say it only when I mean it. And yes, whenever I say that to you or hear you say to me, it sounds special. Like the words were just invented by us, a kind of secret code between you and me that no third person can understand.
What is it about you that makes me think of you randomly at 2 in the afternoon, as I am busy typing away in my laptop? I don’t see or hear anything that reminds me of you. Yet there it is, that feeling, you enter into my mind unannounced. And a silly smile creeps into my face. We have never been the usual couple. I don’t remember you bringing roses to me, or singing sonnets. I don’t remember any fancy Valentine’s Day dinner. But what I do remember is how you surprised me at office one day, taking me out to dinner in your unique way. I remember how busy you said your day would be, but then I saw you switching off your mobile before we began dining, looking at me and me only, as if I was the only one who mattered, who existed in your world.
I love you in all the little things.
I love you when you approach me from behind, wordlessly plugging the earphone into my ear, playing my – our favourite song when I least expected. Did you hear my heart race then, at your proximity?
I love how you try not to show your other worries to me, trying to keep me from worrying in turn after that rough day you had. Did you see my eyes glaze when I saw your smile you put on for me, and the dimple on your left cheek, as I ran a hand over your stubble, trying to ease the frown out of your face?
I love how careful you are when you wait for me to get in the car and then get behind the wheel, showing me that chivalry is still on – maybe you knew I read too many books, and had high expectations?
I love the way you enter the room and switch on the light when you see me reading in dull light, shaking your head for the millionth time at how I never take care of my health? Perhaps you realised that sometimes I do leave the light off intentionally just to see you purse your lips and twitch your nose in that way?
I love it when you call me in that special nickname you had, your voice dripping the care, softly, so only I could hear. I wonder if you knew that every time you did that, my heart fluttered a little, picking up pace, making me wonder if I have ever fully crossed the lovesick teenage years.
I love the way I feel when I think of you, the happiness pervading every part of my consciousness, slowly spreading golden warmth. I love the way I miss you, hoping against hope that you would be with me at a particular moment when I needed you.
I love the fact that I can take up your phone at any point of time, attending calls and replying to (sometimes flirtatious) messages. I love it when you never kick up a fuss no matter how harsh, or jealousy filled my response was to that cute co-worker who tried to ask you out for dinner, or to that boss who wanted the hours we had set aside as alone time. And I love it when I forget my phone’s lock pattern. Seeing you come up and open it for me, insisting that I did it just to make you come closer, is reward enough.
I love the ringtones you set for me, carefully choosing the music track that means so much to both of us, making me smile whenever my phone rings. I love calling your number whenever we are together, just to hear that special tone ring softly. I love how neither of us are embarrassed enough to stop that old, childish habit.
I love the messages you send me, to let me know that I am a constant presence in your mind. After all, what a better romantic way to express love than to ask, ‘It is one hour past your usual lunch time. Have you eaten?’ I love how we have grown used to a routine, like older people and yet like children, savouring every surprise, every little new thing.
I love it when you are my sounding board, my idea factory and my punching pillow. I love the spontaneity you have when you surprise me with a sudden hug or a surprise gift, and I like the mundane routine we follow, fighting over the same things again and again, knowing what the other’s answers would be.
I love the trust we share, the feeling that no matter what happened, we are there for each other with complete belief.
I love the way we discuss the mass of the sun one moment and the latest gossip the next, switching topics with ease.
I love the understanding you show, knowing when to be calm and when to voice your thoughts, showing your support with that mild but firm clasp of your hand. I love how you let me be, knowing that I needed my space sometimes too.
There are times when I feel suddenly insecure, a fear that I am replaceable. But I love the way you allay those fears. Showing rather than telling, that there can be no other woman in my place – at least not in this lifetime. I knew getting in that we may be incompatible. I knew before I fell for you that I might not be right one for you. But you made me realise that we are two misfits joining to become a perfect fit. I love the fact that you never made me feel let down or confused.
But most of all, I love you for making me feel safe. I have heard many people tell me that true love gives one the butterflies, heart palpitations and a breathless feeling. But to me, true love is when I see the understanding in your eyes, the care, and the assurance that you are the only man after my father who would never hurt me intentionally. Maybe I am missing all the clichés of love. But I am happy with what I have. The safe contentment when I am with you. The realisation that ‘you are my home’.
This post is a part of ‘Write a Love letter campaign’ by the Chennai Bloggers Club
For more, see the official CBC website!