To The Lover Who Was

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, it was under the stars. We spent most of the days in the week together, talking, sharing moments of silence, and drinking cheap booze, much to your distaste. Each night we would cuddle and go to sleep, with my head on one of your arms, and the other wrapped tightly around my waist. But for the world, we didn’t exist. Like a well-hidden secret, there are now no traces of “us”. No one asked us about it. No one comforted. There are no statuses, no dedications, and no pictures online to serve as a memoir of what we had. We ended with as much swiftness as we began. One morning we woke up, and we were not there. The loss which could have been recovered but was not, is the worst kind of loss. Your absence has left a void in my life, and I have nothing to fill it with. And now, I wear your shirt when I am alone in my balcony, with a bottle of red wine to keep me company, and listening to all the awful songs that you made me listen to, the lyrics of which I now remember like the back of my hand. Just so you know, I still don't like the songs! I close my eyes to smell the fabric of your shirt that I  haven’t washed ever since the time you gave it to me. It takes me back to the smell of your neck which was once my favorite place to sleep. I don’t want your smell to fade away, because probably that’s the only way I can still feel close to you. I also scroll through our old chats and laugh and cry at our silliness. I look up at the stars and wonder who do you now find wonderful and who do you now click pictures of. I still write texts to you when drunk, only to find myself pressing the back button every time. My messages never reach you, because I know you won’t reply with comforting words. Not anymore.

Yours truly,

A deleted chapter