Of late, I have been writing these letters not to |

Of late, I have been writing these letters not to the love that I lost but a love that is yet to happen. I met her recently. I don't know if she is into me as well. I feel she is, though. Not as much but enough to trespass the littleness of the phrase "a little". I gave her a letter the last time. It wasn't a letter like this, where my thoughts meander in search of stability & understanding. It was a to-the-point letter. A letter where I divulged what I felt, unveiled the mystery that could have been my mind, said a little more than what I say usually. I don't know what triggered me to write it but I felt unburdened in letting my secret out, as if I were holding a lie inside. I printed it with different fonts & sizes on both sides of three A4 sheets because my cartridge gobbled words, as if she didn't need to read them. She acknowledged my hazy words but didn't reciprocate what she felt. I egged her to. She said, later, when we meet? Right now, I feel as if I am standing bare with my truth dangling in place of my phallus while she stands fully-clothed in front of me. Sometimes, it's the truth, not lie, that burdens you if you hold it for too long. Can you please tell her this? Balcony letter #30 Click #BalconyLetters to read in continuation.

Of late, I have been writing these letters not to

Harsh