Anurika Sarkar

Dearest Son, When I saw your shiny little heart beating at 181 beats per minute, the sound of which resembled those of galloping horses, your little brain bent downwards, and the tiny fingers waiting to stretch out, I knew I would never be able to witness something so beautiful and pure ever again in my life. The thought that I was actually nurturing a life inside me, a life which is dearer to me than my own, a life which I am the source of , and the saying that "motherhood is the feeling of being complete" never made more sense. My heart was filled with varied overpowering emotions - a very different kind of love which can only be felt, and not explained, boundless protection,   and insurmountable care for someone who was yet to see the joys of this world. But you my little one, you didn't know that the mother you were safely growing inside of, the mother you were sure of to protect you against all the adversities, the same mother tore your trust in   her into p

To The Lover Who Was, There’s a picture of us: you sitting near my balcony and trying to avoid the camera by turning your face and hiding it with your hand. I am sitting in front of you, gleefully looking into the camera, my cheeks close to your lips. I remember the picture still, though it was quite dark and we weren’t visible clearly due to the red lights in my room. We were vulnerable then. There was no pretense, there was no pose, we never uploaded it and nobody ever got to see us that way: you, being the camera shy that you are, and me, trying to make sense of my newfound feelings for you. Often, you would click multiple photos of me, candid and non-candid alike. You would then take your own sweet time to irritate the shit out of me, before you finally agreed to share those pictures with me. I drunk texted you, and you replied with your comforting words, saying how it doesn’t matter what people say and that I am a wonderful person. I remember the first time we made love,