Guest Writer: Hrishita Ghosh
This is not a love letter but I learnt to use a lighter today because you left yours on my bedside
table and I was fiddling with it absentmindedly while thinking of you. This is not a love letter
but I got pink lights instead of blue for my room because the blue ones would’ve reminded me of
yours. This is not a love letter but my best friend thinks we will find our way back into each
other’s lives in the end, somehow. This is not a love letter but some nights I watch our memories
play out on my ceiling. This is not a love letter but I wanted to tell you that I think we look at
each other with too much longing. Your fingers on my thigh and your lips on my neck feel so
familiar that it’s terrifying and this is not a love letter but I have started to know when you’re
close by just by the smell of your perfume or the sound of your feet. This is not a love letter but
I’m wondering if there’s a way to pull the remnants of you out of my skin without making myself
bleed.
Your lies are slow poison and for once I’ve picked a faster one over them— the cigarettes. And
this is not a love letter but I know that you know I only draw the smoke into my mouth because I
miss the taste of yours.
This is not a love letter because I know that I can make you say you are sorry
and I can dress up, look pretty and make you want to kiss me
and I can let you sleep in my bed and want to stay a little longer
but I can't make you love me.
And this is not a love letter but I’m writing about you the way I breathe— constantly helplessly,
when I know it’s all in vain so I promise…… this is not a love letter.
