When was the last time I wrote a letter to you? I think it has been around thirty to forty days. I haven’t lost my phone nor have I forgotten how to check a calendar. I wasn’t having any of the two. I have no idea when the sun rises to brighten the lives of billions or when it sets observing the audacity of the same figure. I can’t recall the difference between the chirping of birds with aurora and pestering honks of automobiles. No. It is not because of the high intake of soporiferous drugs. Rather, it is because of the procedure I am put in to reset my CNS; clearing all the connections it has with it’s love. Unfortunately, they couldn’t alter it’s dire wish.
As I told you the last time(I guess), I was taken to the shrink which Papa appointed. You know how awkwardly serious he is about my health, addictions and love. The best thing about him would be his attitude towards us; carefree, supportive and “Take a decision for yourself and stand on it” always. There is a wide contrast between him and an Asian parent. Maybe that’s the reason he has to take me to a person away from family to judge my situation and work upon it. She kept on bugging me with her questions for almost a week and ended up resigning. Be proud of me. I was then sent somewhere, somewhere grey. It was either white or black or both. The white light directed on my eyes couldn’t stop my hand from finding it’s way to the cigarette lying on the table. The black chamber couldn’t stop my limbs to prepare a joint and have a puff. I have a strong muscle memory. The grey walls resembled the shades and patterns my lips make in the air. It took those people just few conversations to realize that it is impossible for them to drift me apart from nicotine. Only you can stop me now. Come and do it. I challenge your esteem. Why are you so afraid of me? 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.