Dear

Raghuveer wakes up at dawn every single day and runs outside, he doesn’t wash his face or changes his clothes; he just runs through the street leading to his house. He doesn’t stop; he keeps running until he falls down to his knees panting, gasping for air.

Then he would burst into cries, weeping like a child.

Each morning of each day.

He rubs off his tears and stands up with pride and walks back home slow.

Each morning of each day.

He stood at his door as she briskly walked out once; he should have run after her.

But, he didn’t, he couldn’t.

So, he makes up for it each day.

He is not in misery.

He laughs and talks of intriguing things; he perhaps even leads a life far better than her; more meaningful than her.

But, still each morning of each day he runs through the street she once walked out of to never return.

He doesn’t want her back, maybe he doesn’t even love her anymore.

But, her loss haunts him the most.

He has not lost many things in life; but he did lose her.

He doesn’t desire her as much as he desires the pain of her loss since that pain shall keep him alive and warm on lonely nights.

His pain reminds him of his inherent goodness.

That an animal as himself too felt love and guilt.

That an animal as himself too felt loss and grieve.

He picks up dry flowers from the feet of each withered tree.

From his dangerous mind he longs to be free.

Raghuveer has never been a child, so somewhere inside his parched heart lives a child who longs for an innocent childhood.



But; this world is not safe for children.

So, here he is still running through that street.

Reminding himself of his goodness; validating himself for being in love.

Such a child he is.

Oh! Dear Raghuveer, Dear Raghuveer.