Addicted

Fiction


Letting go

 

Hi,

I am moving on to better things, and hope you are too. Don’t look alarmed. I might have been the last person you expected to hear from but I felt like I had to do this. Once at least, for the old times. 

For a moment I almost thought I had you. That you were mine and I, yours. Made, lost, and found. But Lucifer has always been a master of gradual deception: you always knew, never had a doubt, always saw it coming, and maybe so did everyone else but me. No, I wasn’t blind but truth be spoken, whenever I looked, I always only found will and acceptance under the veil of your seduction. Talk to me. In all that darkness, do you ever experience love? Do you ever feel a longing? Does your heart ever sink? You made me forget how all those before had screamed at me to stay away; having sailed on the same tide, how all of them were now left wrecked and ruined, but still awaiting your return.“La belle dame sans merci”—The beautiful lady without mercy—  I should’ve learned sooner, stayed away when I found you that day in your room, thrashing the sheets, howling like a madman, palms pressed to the walls. I curse the thought when I too had found an addiction in a catastrophe.

To people who ask, I say we never figured it out, the both of us. And paraphrase Khalil Gibran— “no one can direct the course of love. Love, if it finds people worthy, directs their course.” Maybe that’s what happened. Or maybe you were just too bored. What kills me is that even I will never find out and I’ll have to learn to live with that. Now, I’m just glad I gave it my all and will have no regrets. But I wonder, if you have ever said the same. To anyone.

Catastrophe partner

 

This is to tell you that we could've moved mountains. Or failing that, at least scaled a few together. I must admit, I have been a haunted man. Haunted by the ideas of what we could've been. The truth is you learn a little more about yourself every time someone bids goodbye, and yours is a lesson I could never forget. That brings me to my next point. This letter is also to tell you that regardless of what happened, everyone deserves their chance at being happy. I’ve been searching for mine and I truly hope you find yours.

I’m doing badly, I'm doing well,
But yours is a story I will always tell.
An angel, a damsel I found to grow old,
Who pressed me and stretched me, then left me to be sold.
To the man who finds her next I plead,
Love her not, for hers is a different greed.
She’ll clean, heal, bite and feast on your wound,
then look around, smell, spit you and run to another hound.

Love always,
Sam.

Photography By: Kanika Narang


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