Dear love, Write to me from your place of life. Tell me how you're doing, what you say, what you do; tell me about your days and your evenings. Please write to me in great detail about the small world where you go, and if you remember the haunted church on the hill and the cascade of wildflowers down the mountainside. Don't use your home address when you write to me; instead, use the one I will tell you (for that's more beautiful). Tell me what's on your mind, as if I were a stranger. Tell me if prowling wolves of humiliation knock at your door, so I can come to fend them off. From time to time, bake pies to invite me, even though I can't taste them . I hope you won't have any reason to cry. Now and then, tell me a lie about your story. May your family throw you a grand ceremony, complete with guests and horses. Don't tell me about these things—I already assume them. Tell me, if you wish, how your son will turn out, the sweet graft we dreamed of. Please, tell me how happy you are, my sweet despair. All I desire, my dewy love, now that you leave my eyes deserted; write to me from the address of the nearest cemetery. So long, my fiery ardor, I hold no reproach; continue on your path graced with a dazzling destiny, like a sunset free from clouds. From time to time, write to me. From time to time, Lie to me. ©पूर्वार्थ #dearlove
