Suramya Pokharel - January 29, 2024
Dear Elaina,
I’ve not slept for four days now. I close my eyes, I shut my brain, but I can’t go to sleep. At times though, I reach a land unknown when I lay down. A land, where rain falls in droplets of gold. Where the sun shines with a silvery tint. Where the stars dwell amongst the most humanly characters around us. Where the clouds pick us up, and fly us away. But, I return again, pretty quick, to this dreary place once more. You know Elaina, I’ve now started to hate the night. The moon makes me nauseous. The stars make me anxious. The Sirius is always covered with clouds. I feel incomplete, Elaina, as if I’m constantly trying to cover my body with a blanket too small, and when I do feel like I’ve wrapped it around my body whole, a shrill burst of air gets in through some crack I know not of, and shakes me to my core again. I complain. I hate; Elaina. That’s all I do now. I hate. I dislike. I disdain. I disdain everything!
Oh! How I wish, Elaina. How I wish all this were only a dream. That I could wake up tomorrow, and be encapsulated by that warmth again. That I could feel that you are all but a phone call away. I wouldn’t even call you then. I’d run! I’d run all the way to your house. When you open the door, I’d hold your hands tight and say: “Today you shall be mine, Elaina, and I shall be yours; unconditionally, unreservedly, boundlessly and completely. Today, I shall love you with no impediments. And that’s how it shall be for the whole of us.” And while you stare at me, bathed in utter speechlessness, “Come with me!” I’d say suddenly, and take you away.
We’d go to that garden you always wanted to visit. We’d sit on some dark, stony bench at the corner. You’d lean your body towards me and rest your head on my chest. I’d then, wrap my arms around you. We’d sit there and watch the world pass us by. We’d feel the flow of time. We’d swoon over every strand of wind that ever touches our face. We’d listen to the birds chirp and the cars beep. There we shall be complete again. There we shall be home again.
Oh, Elaina! I’d pause the time there. I’d live a hundred lifetimes and long for a hundred more. I’d spend my eternity there – holding you. What more could I ever need? You’d gently fall asleep, and I’d hold you even tighter. I’d give you all my warmth there Elaina, believe me, I would. When you wake up from your gentle slumber, we’d go see the roses as they gallantly raise themselves up to greet you. Amidst the roses, you shall bloom again, and I shall again fall in love. You’d ask me to take a photograph of you with those inferior flowers. I’d comply. You’d not like it though. And I’d take it again. And you’d not like it again, but it’d be ‘good enough for the stories’ anyways.
I’m a dreamer, Elaina. That’s all I do. I dream! I dream of you. I dream of you every waking hour. I dream of you in my disturbed sleep. I dream of you in my dreams of you. In my dreams Elaina, you come to me in the most absurd of fashion. I find you hidden beneath the bloodied rocks of Mars. I feel you drenching me in the heaviest of rains. I see you floating amidst the corals in some dark corner of the ocean I dwell. I discover you in the galaxies I’m meant to explore. I find you fighting crimes with me, Elaina – Catwoman to my Batman.
Although, your dreams have always satiated me, a new greed has now started to emerge in this head of mine. At times Elaina, I feel this sudden urge to go and get you somehow. To find you somewhere. To hold you in my arms again. To feel your hairs flow through my fingers. To see the world in those eternally diluted eyes. To drown you again in my ocean of affection. So, give me, Elaina! Give me something. Something to go on with. Give me your enchanting smile. Give me your breathtaking glares. Give me those shiny dark eyes. Give me those flowy serene hairs. Give me a child, Elaina! A child with all the features that have beguiled me so. Let the world see why I fell in love with you when our daughter smiles. Let the world marvel at your absurdity when our son wraps himself around me, scared of the silent, dark night.
Every time I approach a street corner, I find myself hoping, almost in despair, that the next face that appears be yours. That you’d see me again, and wave your frail hands once more, with the same fire flaring in your pupils. That you’d come running and jump on me, almost tipping me off balance, and embrace me as tightly as you used to. If only, Elaina. If only we could go back and start anew. If only you could lose your past and I could lose mine. I wish we could yet again be complete strangers, and meet again on the same fateful street. I would ask for your name again, and listen to your meek voice utter ‘Elaina’ for the first time. Oh, how I wish we could hurl ourselves in the same old tempest and be completely nonchalant to the chaos engulfing us.
Maybe we don’t love fully, Elaina, because we don’t dream enough. Maybe we lose our imagination. When living the reality, perhaps we let the fiction die off too easy. We let life takeover and don’t live as much. We seem to think we have our whole age to dream, but when the age slips away right in front of us, all we ever do is watch. Perhaps, this is why we don’t show enough. We don’t say enough. We don’t do enough. We don’t express enough. We tend to think there’s always a next time, but then fail to realize the ‘last time’ when it arrives so quick. How I wish we could live our life knowing we’d die tomorrow. Oh, what could we not do, Elaina? We could live an entire age in a mere twenty-four hours. We’d go to the hilly plains of Denmark. We’d build a small cottage there, and watch the sunset in its full naked beauty as we make love with no regards for conscience and no fear of severance. We’d have children there, Elaina. They shall inherit your absurd stubbornness and my moronic sense of humor. And when finally, the twenty-third hour does arrive, and your cheeks are all wrinkly and my hands no more retain the same strength, we shall return, hand in hand, to this very garden. Amidst the roses, you shall bloom again, and I shall again fall in love.
Only yours,
S.P.