Book That You Can Never Read

You can read my words but you can’t really understand my sentences, you can’t understand why I paused after a certain sentence or why I ended a sentence with an exclamation mark rather than a full stop.

You can read my headlines but you won’t grasp what I’m trying to say, you won’t know if it’s a misleading headline or a headline that has nothing to do with what I’m truly trying to say. In other words, you can’t sum me up in one headline.

When I write about loving you, you’d think that I can’t sleep at night thinking about you, but the truth is, I write about a familiar feeling; a moment in time when life was wondrous and I was mesmerized. A feeling that struck me once before that I couldn’t forget.

I write about how you made me feel because I loved that feeling — not you.

When I write about missing you, I write about the person you used to be, the person you pretended you were or the person I thought you were. I write about whom I thought you were and the things you made me believe in. I miss the rush of emotions, the whopping smile on my face when I saw your name on my phone, the bright future that I painted in all my favorite colors and the moment I realized that I’m capable of loving unconditionally.

I write about missing everything about that phase but that doesn’t mean I want to call you or I want you back. Missing you serves as an inspiration not a final statement. You can translate my words into your language but it still won’t make sense because you and I speak in very different languages with totally different connotations. You can try to read between the lines but you’ll always find them blurry and murky because you interpret things according to how your mind operates and your mind is a maze.

My words are a reflection of me; they can be contradicting, they can be wise, they can be childish, they can be insane, they can be idealistic, they can be flawed, they can be harsh and they can be fragile. My words can be a lot of things but they will always be real. I’m an open book because I write about the finest details but you were never detail-oriented so you will never understand the depth of my words.

My book is open, you can flip through my pages or highlight my words but you will never be able to pin me down, because it takes more than reading from a distance to know me, it takes more than a few words to figure me out and it takes a lot more than reading to know my story but you never had the courage to finish the story till the end.

So you can read my book a thousand times but you still won’t be able to read me.



3 AM

It’s 3 am and the night still asks me about you and all I can do is ask the night to let me sleep and bring you in my dreams and maybe one of those nights my dream will come true and the night will stop asking me about you.

It’s at 3 am that the night hits me and asks me about you. It asks me how you’re doing and I still don’t have an answer. I like to believe that you’re fine but a part of me doesn’t really want you to be fine without me. The stars ask me if you still shine everywhere you go and if your smile still brightens up anyone’s day and I can’t help but say yes, because even if I haven’t seen you, I know that you’ll always shine even if it’s dark inside you. And sometimes the night and I wonder if you miss me and if you’re also looking out the window waiting for a miracle.

The moon asks me if I will ever forget you, and I can’t help but confess that I’ve learned to forget everything in the past but I couldn’t forget the way you made me feel, I tell the moon that I learned how to forget everyone who hurt me but I still haven’t learned how to forget you. And even the moon can’t forget you because it’s always full when I’m missing you. The skies ask me if I’ll ever reach out to you and I tell them that I’m scared of not getting a response but the truth is I’m scared more of getting a response, I’m scared of hearing your voice and I’m terrified of loving you again. And sometimes the skies make the night a little bit warmer when I think about you.

I wonder if the night will ever stop haunting me at 3 am to ask me about you. Sometimes I think the night is lonely and missing some company but then every time I bring someone else, the night gets colder and moon disappears.

I think I’m bound to spend my nights remembering you and there is nothing more I can do because the night was not made to be alone, the stars were not meant to shine above a broken heart and the moon was not meant to hide behind the clouds. The night craves love and intimacy, the night needs two souls bound together by its beauty, comforting each other from the troubles of the day.

And it’s the like the night conspired to keep me up until you’re back to me.

It’s 3 am and the night still asks me about you and all I can do is ask the night to let me sleep and bring you in my dreams and maybe one of those nights my dream will come true and the night will stop asking me about you.

To The One Who Will Never Read This

She whispers.
Her breath renders a gentle breeze,
brushing over baby hairs and making colors crisper.
Her words take me captive like a malignant disease.

Her lips graze upon my cheek
their gentle touch nestled in the hallow of my cheek.
Her potent love, healing the wounds of the weak.
She makes the chaos of living, simple.

Her brown eyes fall to meet my own,
hardly revealing, but so much to know.
At her fault my heart is prone.
In the gentle light her freckles show.

Soon her eyes abandon mine
to wander, and to roam.
And as they land upon another, I know I should let go.
If home is where the heart is,
I will never be her home.

A Letter To The Person I Don’t Think I’ll Ever Get Over.

Dear You,

I think back at the last few years, the first of many to be spent without you. It’s crazy realizing that you haven’t been a part of them at all. I sometimes still find it difficult to accept that this is the way things are going to be – not just between us, but for me.

It’s difficult accepting that I will have to continue living this life, living with the choices that I’ve made and am unable to take back.

Please don’t misunderstand me. This isn’t sadness that you hear in my words. That phase has been and gone. I no longer feel sad about having let you go. I no longer feel sad when the thought of you inevitably pops into my head. It no longer pains me to imagine you having moved on with your life. Of course, I’d be lying if I were to say that these thoughts bring me joy, but they don’t tear into me the way they once did, not so long ago.

It’s difficult for me to explain the exact state I’ve found myself in. These are uncharted waters. Once you were the lighthouse that guided me to shore, making me feel safe and certain knowing where I can find home, but that light no longer shines. At least, not for me.

Is it weird if I say I’m OK with that? It feels weird thinking it, but it’s true. I’m not happy about it. I’m not sad about it. I’m OK with it. And I think that’s the most I can ask for at the moment. The hardest part is accepting that I never meant to you what you meant to me – not really.

This isn’t to say that you didn’t love me, because I know you did. Yet, here we are; I’m sitting here writing this letter, and you’re … somewhere else. Without me, doing your own thing, being the awesome person you’ve always been.

I’m sure I no longer occupy a room in your mind, yet in my mind and heart you’ll always find a place.

If someone were to ask me if I’ve moved on, I’d say yes. There is no doubt in my mind that I have moved on. I’ve gotten over a hurdle I wasn’t sure I’d make it over. It wasn’t just the heartbreak that I had to make it through. It’s all that came with it. The sadness. The lack of will. The moodiness. All those horrible habits I picked up as a means of distracting myself – a poor effort at trying to convince myself that you don’t matter to me.

But you do. You matter to me more than you know. And the crazy thing is, nothing will ever change that. As long as I continue to be me, my love for you will never fully dissipate. I don’t love you the way Romeo loved Juliet. I love you the way the moon loves the sun. While we may never cross paths again, there’s a connection that exists and will continue to exist as long as we do.

I have long debated what love actually is … but now I know. It’s caring. Not because you want to or because you feel like you should, but because you don’t have any other options available to you. Regardless of whether or not we can remain friends, I will always care for you.

And you want to know what? I’m happy that I care for you as much as I do. I’m happy that I can feel this way about a person without feeling the need to own their thoughts, their time, their attention, or even their love. I don’t need you to love me. Not anymore. I’ve found that love for oneself is all that you really need. Everything else is just extra – it’s more than the necessary minimum. In other words, everything in addition is a gift. And I can’t be upset with not receiving a gift from you. After all, a gift is only truly a gift if reciprocation isn’t expected.

So why am I writing this letter? That’s an excellent question… I guess it’s not really for you; it’s for me. Truth be told, I’m secretly hoping that you never read this. You don’t need to hear this. You’re happy doing you and I want you to stay happy doing you. This letter is to remind me that the choices I’ve made, the path I’ve walked and continue to walk, is the path I was meant to walk down.

You turned me into a better person, then into someone I was no longer able to recognize. Yet, I’ve now somehow found myself better off. I’m stronger. I’m wiser. I’m more disciplined. I feel … content. So thank you for all that.

I may never get over you, but truth be told, I don’t want to get over you. I want this new sort of love I have for you to stay with me. I want it to stay with me as I continue on with my life, as I accomplish my goals, as I find someone new to share my life with.

I want my love for you to continue for the rest of my life because whatever I’m experiencing is as real as anything I’ve ever experienced before. It’s still new to me … but it’s real. It’s selfless. It’s pure. It’s calming. Life has taught me so much, and although we won’t be traveling side by side, I’m excited to see what new lessons life has to teach.

Yours always,
Debashish Talukdar.