Dearest Neel, I almost forgot to write you a letter this month. Almost. Because see I made it a point to write before the month ends, before the year ends, before 2021 bids adieu, before the two’s welcome us. I have long given up on writing to you on the 15^th of every month, I have lost hope of ever being on time anymore, long given up on you writing back to me. But the thing is when I have nothing else to look forward to, I kind of look forward to these letters. These one-sided letters. These letters, where I rant about absolutely nothing. Honestly speaking, I don’t even remember what I wrote to you last month, nor do I have the intention of recalling them. Whatever it was, I said it, and now I simply sit back and look at people bringing in the Christmas spirit. Tomorrow. Tomorrow is Christmas. Can you believe it? I swear, just yesterday I was thinking that Christmas is next week. I have no notion of time and dates anymore. Next week, I might as well have sailed into another year without even knowing it. I understand that that is hardly possible with people putting up Christmas and new years’ pictures everywhere, but the thought itself speaks of something amiss. 

Speaking of thoughts, I had a dream today. In the dream I was back to my school, in my uniform, and you were holding me while I was being bullied for something that I had clearly not done. This much is clear. This much could be true from past experiences. But how were you present there? Why were you holding me? You were never a part of my life then? I didn’t even know you then. How then did this dream happen? But the next moment I woke up and my chain of thoughts cooked up a pretty story following my dream. A story that is impossible. A story that was only a thought.

Stories have only been the forever constant in my life. But of late, I am sorry to say that stories are drifting too. I have written far too less this year. And though I have read a lot, these last few days I have been losing my focus. Ever been there, where you read and re-red and again read the same paragraph but you still don’t understand what happened, what is the writer trying to say, of what dramatic plot twist just happened? Ever read and zoned out? Like your focus seems to evaporate out of you? I am scared now Neel, what if the one thing that stays by me, leaves me too? What if my books leave me too? This thought itself is.. I don’t know how it makes me feel. All I know is this is unwanted. The only escape I have cannot leave me. It just cannot.

But it seems to be doing so. As time unravels, slowly, very slowly, my speed decreases, my mind stays lost, and I am left with an emptiness that I never knew. Sometimes I think of making it more empty by putting an end to these letters too. What remains then? The thought itself is haunting and so I write. When nothing happens, and nothing really matters, I still write to you about nothing.

In Nothingness,

Love.

Read More: Dear Neel #4