What I do when I don’t get to hold you

Dear A,

This moment, like several others in the past two years, is one where I would give anything that is mine to give, to be next to you (and trust me, giving up that “anything” is scary) I want to hold you in my arms, run my fingers through your hair, just breathe next to you- and unlike most of the other occasions when I wish this because I want you, I want this now because I can sense that you need it.

Of course, we don’t need each other. I feel glad that I am at a level now where I can say this without feeling resentful about it. But there is an expanse of no man’s land between what you need and don’t need, and sometimes we float in the “this would be nice to have for a while” territory. I am sitting in a bustling cafe in Mumbai having finished the mundane Excel work I came here to do, and as always, when there is a lull in my brain, it turns to you. Although, that is not strictly accurate- it turns to you ever so often irrespective of workload. When you say you’re keeping yourself busy and reply in monosyllables, a part of me understands exactly why. That part has been growing, and so I have ceased to question with as much frequency.

But that doesn’t mean I can’t see the other things that you’re in the midst of. The number of times that I have wanted to share your despondence are fresh in my mind, even though I veer away from most people’s sadness these days. The thing with yours is, it doesn’t need fixing. (On a somewhat related note, I remembered the “my Sadness wants to fuck your sadness” prompt). Your occasional sadness is not a toxic pit I’m going to burn my hands in- it feels to me more like one of my earliest memories, of pulling a blanket completely over my head, or getting inside the cupboard or under the study table, and staying in that confined space for a while. Or perhaps, all those evenings I spent playing alone under an umbrella covered with a bed sheet to make a tent. It was stuffy at times, inside, but I remember I always had a pang of longing when it was ultimately time to get out- I liked to pretend that if I sat inside long enough, they’d never know where I went.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve liked being hidden away for long periods. So I know for a fact that if I were with you, in such times, I would not want to draw you out until you wanted to come. Perhaps all I want is to sit at the edge, a little outside, or maybe share the darkness if you like. I want you to have a place where your light and darkness can coexist and not have to displace each other.

Yours,

A

 

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