A random letter before valentines day

Dear stranger, I am in love with,

You know we are strangers and yet somehow our rendezvous splash on to every day. We have never conversed with one another and yet somehow we are well versed with one another. We have never seen each other and yet we can precisely describe as aptly every fine curve and contour on either of our bodies. We have never held hands or spend minutes in each other’s arms yet we know what the warmth we share feels like. We are unaware and yet we are as aware as we could be. Does that make any sense to you?

I know it doesn’t, when has it ever? Every time I am ruminating and you decide to make a special appearance, I am unapologetic for all the wondrous things that I make you do, the romantic blues that I make you dance too and for all the giggles and smiles we share. Every time I catch a glimpse of you on TV or in a random show I am binge watching on a lonely heartbreaking night and I I fantasise myself in the place of whoever it is you’re caught with, I am unapologetic. Each time I am sitting in a cafe, at the movies, at a party or even on the sidewalk and I am clinging on to the thought of you and desperately almost begging for you to apparate and be right here by my side, I am unapologetic. When I watch Pretty Woman, Love Actually, The Notebook or even 2 states for god sake, with every emotion I feel, my want to conjure you and bring you to share my reality unbearably spikes up.

I am forever wandering in the search of your pieces, the whole world to me becomes like a puzzle and every day for me is like a quest to explore and select the best parts of you. Maybe snatch someone’s smile and superimpose it on my “perfect” idea of you, get inspired by someone’s sense of humour and make believe that you’ll have it too, maybe fangirl over someone’s charm and wish forever that you’ll have that virtue. Building and characterising you is enjoyable for me, I am sure it is for you too, it is, isn’t it?

Your absence is when I feel your presence the most. Maybe because you don’t exist, do you? In books and movies, perhaps.

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