A letter to my future love

Dear love,
I have always been mills and boon kind of girl. The ones who have been in love with the idea of love itself. I have spent my teen years ritualistically fantasizing about my love life,everyday without fail.
I have written and re-written and edited my perfect love story in mind for zillions of times. The way you will hold my hand and I will snuggle in your chest with my eyes close and my hands roaming somewhere on your vertebrate as if assuring you of my love. About our little fights and those little surprises I will plan for you without reason. I have everything scripted in my mind. So you know how much I am eager to have you in life.
But my script will never form a book,for I want us to be micro tales. I don’t want our story to live inside pages dying for someone to open them before they stick to each other impairing themselves beyond repair. I want us to be blurb living on heavy jackets for the passer-by to read and appreciate and cringe and move ahead.
I dream of living in a studio apartment, no rooms,no doors just big french windows and a big balcony. I wish to grow tomatoes and mushrooms in my kitchen garden and to have a cat. I am planning to have a full fledged corporate life for five days a week and to spend weekends experimenting in kitchen. I wish to set up a library with books I get from “books by weight” places. I like Sufi more than edm and I enjoy experimental cinema more than Hollywood or Bollywood.
And I know that somewhere you are planning your life too. Maybe you wish to live in one of those high end skyscrapers and to eat junk all day. Maybe you are an artist wandering around with brushes or guitar. Maybe you do not read at all and listen to metal music.
I know I will fall for you, I will fall way too hard. And I know that I will take you home to my kitty and will cook for you. But I will not ask you to stay with me, I will watch your face under my blue pottery lamps once in a while but I will never have longings to have you at my apartment each day. I will visit your place every now and then but I will not stay there for more than a day or two. I will cuddle with you in your spring mattress but I will return back to my water bed.
And amidst all this hustle when you will question my love, I want you to know that I love you but I belong to myself a little more than I belong to you. I want you to love yourself more than you love me. And loving yourself means to not to curtail your dreams for anyone.
Trust me, our love will remain intact with the frequent visits and even at distance. Longings will keep the wild alive. But in the low moments, love, please choose yourself over me. Remember you’re the book and we are just a little blurb.

With love


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