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"The ease with which you let go of me reminds me o

"The ease with which you let go of me reminds me of nobody but myself. I prided myself in being so detached that letting go was second nature to me. For you, it is the first. At least that is what I felt. I wasn’t heartbroken. I wasn’t in love with you, yet. But I was falling. Slowly, very agreeably, even happily. It did steal away some happiness. I am not sure if it was difficult for you to tell me no. It’s over, this thing is never going to happen again, you’d said. Your voice seemed sure, but the day later, I sensed residual affection. You were unsure. No, no more. Maybe, maybe." The complete letter in the caption. Dear P, It might have been just sex for you. A respite from the monotony and artificiality of this five-star compound pinned in the midst of a Haryana hinterland. A vent of light in the cloud of your confusion in matters regarding the heart and holes. A scent of affection and attraction that held promise to last just long enough. Long enough to part with you the day you take your Air India flight to Massachusetts, a word that your parents cannot pronounce. Or never part, as you’d craved once.
"The ease with which you let go of me reminds me of nobody but myself. I prided myself in being so detached that letting go was second nature to me. For you, it is the first. At least that is what I felt. I wasn’t heartbroken. I wasn’t in love with you, yet. But I was falling. Slowly, very agreeably, even happily. It did steal away some happiness. I am not sure if it was difficult for you to tell me no. It’s over, this thing is never going to happen again, you’d said. Your voice seemed sure, but the day later, I sensed residual affection. You were unsure. No, no more. Maybe, maybe." The complete letter in the caption. Dear P, It might have been just sex for you. A respite from the monotony and artificiality of this five-star compound pinned in the midst of a Haryana hinterland. A vent of light in the cloud of your confusion in matters regarding the heart and holes. A scent of affection and attraction that held promise to last just long enough. Long enough to part with you the day you take your Air India flight to Massachusetts, a word that your parents cannot pronounce. Or never part, as you’d craved once.
shambhavisharma3846

Shambhavi Sharma

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