My Last Letter

I can never forget that day, 27th January, 2005. Sitting on that bench outside the hospital room, I could helplessly see you fighting between life and death. But what really broke my heart was the fact that you were fighting for death. An attempt to commit suicide at the age of 16! It was scary for me. I sat there, shocked, with not a single word to offer... You had lost your mother, a pain only you could understand, perhaps you had every right to say goodbye to this life which has been so brutal to you.
We were just friends then, classmates, but secretly I always liked you. The first spring of my teenage, the first honey drenched dream of my life! I always thought of you as an angel I could only dream of.

Through your illness we grew closer. You objected my staying with you for long hours in that hospital room, but I refused to leave you alone. Lectures and notes became our excuses of staying together. We had no romantic beginning to our love. When I first held your hand, it was feeble and pale, when we first looked into each other's eyes, your eyes were shattered and frozen.

Your room was always gloomy, and I hated the darkness reflecting on your face; I remember opening that window when you first shouted at me, when I first made you cry. The harsh sunlight flushed your eyes, too hard for you; I had opened the wrong window. I understood that day that to take care of you I had to grow up, soon.

I learned to stay quiet, to listen to you, to just sit beside you, to let you feel your pain. It was the only way you could come out of it.
Things changed, slowly you were coming back to life.... My diary has got every detail, of not only our first kiss, but also our first trivial talks and pjs, your first smile and giggles.
It was dream coming true for me, you said you were in love with me. We made promises of staying together forever. Ah, that was a life I would miss for an entire lifetime!

Slowly, you have grown out of me. You have rediscovered yourself, and I have become just a reminder of your depressing days. I can see the change in you. When you date those spoiled punks, I am left with no right to even complain. You call it my "possessiveness"; but ain't I supposed to feel protective for you.

Perhaps, you want me to leave you, so I quit today. I once held the paintbrush to paint a perfect life for you, but you have decided not to have me in the picture; therefore I am handing over your brush to you. Paint it in your way.

You are happy today and I would have loved to say that I am happy too. But sadly, I am not; I miss the days when you were depressed and lonely and you had no one but me. Ah, it sounds bad, I am sorry.

copyright (c) Ankur Srivastava