Letter #6

Dear Bru-ther,

By this time I have an idea about your stinginess.  Even after what is happening in my life, you are not even responding me. You know even though I am seventeen, I lack power of directing myself in the right direction. To me the apt path was from smoke to weed to Marijuana to everything narcotic, which increases my probability of tasting death. All I am trying to do is to dwell in an insane sacrament and yet gain success, like the “Waiting in Vain” artist.

To me herb has the power to relax every grey cell and give it a new meaning. Smoking herb is equivalent to meditation. Intoxicating, dizzy and hence kinky eyes now stick to my face every time. Maybe that’s the reason the count of unknown numbers in my call log is more than that in my contact list. New people, new sellers, new yet blurred faces, I wish I could never remember them. My every cloth smells the same, similar to my hands, legs and lips. I think the last time I wrote you a letter would be the last time I was in my senses and had long hair. He used to like my hair. My long, curly and brown hair was what he admired all the time. So I burned them. I kept my joint at the ends and let them burn till I feel they are completely destroyed. I did that to every strand of hair I could grab. Competing with Marley, I now had hair similar to him. “A woman who cuts her hair is about to change her life” as quoted by Coco Chanel. I would re-frame it as “A woman who burns her hair is about to change your life”. There is no material possession in a life of a woman rich with greater substance than her hair. I don’t give a fuck if its length surpasses the curve of my waist or if it’s asymmetrical, all I care about is I have ruined a way that might bring him back to me. I hope you realize how messy things are becoming in your absence. Papa has appointed a psychiatrist for me. I don’t want to see her because she won’t be the elder brother who I am looking for. Why he thinks I need someone else when I have you? Why?

Why aren’t you here? I hope you are no more a fictional character and come into life someday. I hope I hug you and cry on your shoulders. I wish you are here. I wish you existed.

Miss you.

With love,

Letter #5

Letter #7


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