It was a gloomy morning with mild sunlight
I opened the letter box
T’was a wedding card
A bright white with an eternity symbol in the corner
I knew the handwriting
The very pull at the end of every word
Written in well learnt cursive
*
Even their names seemed to be in sync
The made for each other kind
It was, as if,
Those two names were meant to be written side by side
With just one word in the middle
‘weds’

*
I went inside my room and shut the door
Walked to my table
Switched on my newly fixed table light
And sat with a blank sheet of paper
Wishing my life could be
As new, fresh and uncontaminated as that A4
Unlike the crumpled brown paper
Which had made its way to the bin
*
After sitting with the letter for an hour
I asked myself –
What do I write to him?
Should I ask him the cause of this invitation?
Is it a bitter revenge?
Or a way to reconcile a relationship which will
Never be the same
Trying to tamper with our situation
Was like pricking on a wound which was almost healed
Which would heal
Stop hurting me
But the scar would remain
As a reminder
Of something which taught me
How pain becomes pleasure
*
Instead,
I opened my drawer
And took out an old letter
Which held emotions of a sixteen year old lover,
Who didn’t care about my beauty or past?
Who was brave enough to write,
In that same cursive
“I love you”
With that same personal pull at the end
I poured a bit of my blood
Mixed with tears into that pouch of memories
And sealed it
And sent it
That was enough hate from a lover
On his wedding day
*Enough

I want you to have access to my dead body,
For that you better become a good doctor,
I have my own logical reason behind it.

If I am surely to die someday in future,
You should perform my postmortem,
And claim what's yours - my heart.

I want you to donate it to someone,
That someone who would need it,
A part of me could still survive.