The letters unsent
And among all the languages I had, I chose to hide love than to express it. It’s easy no, to hide it the way you accept and normalising not expressing it? For the quintessential need to show a reason to love, had love obscuring in the abyss of letting go. To fall in love is a chance but to choose to love is a privilege.
Roses are ephemeral so I opted for eternal letters to you, not worthy of tangible destruction. I had weaved letters straight up from my keyboard to justify each sight of yours I managed to capture. Love might be blind but I was all ears to reconstruct your voice as a backdrop against my letters. You see my love for letters is unimaginable but my love for you is inevitable. I witnessed many dawns quivering to the fact of not letting you know but I flinched every time I tried to. This self-withdrawal has left me much at the edge. And I don’t regret this.
My amnesia has often warped you into invisibility but my letters chose to reform and reconstruct you into each sign of a school of thought that I cherish. I see the ink fading now, the letters evaporating in the air I breathe, my bone-dried lips failing to remember your name… I see it all yet am unable to remember and if I consider this to be my worst memory it still won’t last long. Everyday reiterating to recall you is my forte and I love binging into this art of sculpting love out of memory, which is near fading. But with the frailest power I contain, I still choose to love you and to you, are my letters unsent. I still don’t need a reason to love you and I think that’s beautiful until I remember you the next time.
The talking letter was written by Fahima Nahid.
