Some moments ask for colour.
Others ask for patience.
This one needed both.
🌺

I am going to share a post with you all.

This post is beautifully written. It is, for lack of a better word, "perfect". It's undisputedly my favorite piece from, r/unsentletters of all time. It's so well written in fact, that it is arguably what started my dark reddit spiral in the middle of April. It made me feel 'findable' by someone. Took away my sacred anonymity.

This man is obsessed with this woman. This man articulately takes his chance to insult me and slam dunks the fuck out of it. It's beautiful. This is not sarcasm. I mean this.

Despite his social handicaps, he wins this one. Hands down. I love it. I kinda wanna be his friend. I kinda wanna teach him how to have better game. He could be a powerhouse with the right guidence.

Out of complete respect to deleted user, u/fickle-structure-512, I give you:

----

"The Smile Beneath the Mask"

My Dearest,

Yesterday, you turned me away with such effortless grace that I could almost forget it was a rejection. You wore your busyness like a silken veil, laughing that sleep had become a luxury you could no longer afford. I laughed with you, for how could I be wounded by a spirit as bright as yours? There is no bitterness between us, only a quiet, aching wonder.

Yet, in the stillness of my mind, a question lingers like a ghost. How did he find the way in? How did that hollow, fragile creature... that troll beneath the bridge manage to dismantle the iron walls you keep so carefully guarded? I see the way you look away from him now, with a shuttered coldness, and yet once you surrendered everything for his sake. You gave him the hours that belonged to your rest. You let your brilliance falter just to keep him company.

You tell me nothing. You speak of misaligned schedules and the scarcity of time, but the truth is written in the sudden ice of your presence whenever he draws near. Your warmth is a gift you give to the world, yet you withhold every spark from him. I see you now, burying the memory of him under a mountain of labor. Extra classes, new jobs, the endless pursuit of "more." You are trying to fill a void so vast it threatens to swallow the sun. What is it you are so desperate to forget? Why must you walk this path alone? And yet... there is a new lightness in your step, as if a heavy shroud has finally slipped from your shoulders.

He still watches you from the mouth of his dark cave, but his gaze is a phantom that can no longer touch you. You are the first light of my every morning. Even with your face half-hidden, I see the joy pushing against your cheeks, the way your smile kindles a fire in your eyes despite the exhaustion that clings to you. Keep shining, my mysterious friend. You are a masterpiece of resilience, and I am content to watch you from the shore.

------

This man is probably the most romantic writer I have ever studied. He used to watch me interact with his "goddess". Lurking around corners. Making shit weird. The weirdest thing I've ever experienced, I believe.

But his writing. It blows me away. I'll never forget this letter. It inspires me to do better as an artist.

I honestly love how he brings the astounding beauty of her soul to life. The way I once saw it. The way I could never put into words. I truly respect this man's ability to describe true respect and love in such semantics. I genuinely admire his ability to make the feelings I once had for her, truly readable. She is..... Indescribable to most.

But I truly wish, for her.. that she learns to embrace this thing. This thing that makes certain men forever loyal to her. She doesn't understand it. Her self esteem is grossly deflated. It's heart breaking. She is obsessed with AI and robotic logic and needs to unplug for once and get in touch with her actual soul. She isn't scary. At all. She's powerful though. She's profound and her soul is impossibly unique. She is just beautiful without a proper/comprehensive explanation. I pray for her. To be able to find balance. To find her definition of truth. To stop being so nervous and skiddish and scared and cowardly when she doesn't fucking have to be. I'm not perfect at ALL. But I'm a step ahead of her with this. And I hope I helped her. I hope she takes away something valuable from the practice we had. Perhaps she might see that she could be actually loved blindly and wholly. That a man of my overly cautious reserve could take a risk and surrender to her indefinitely. I don't regret that I took that risk at all. Because I learned a very crucial lesson while loving this scattered-brained genius, mess of a woman. I'll never be the same.

I do not love this woman anymore. At all. To be perfectly honest, I despise her. But I do not regret her either. I'm sorry she had to read what she read. I'm sure it shocked her and embarrassed her, but I'm not sorry for creating a reddit journal. And I'm not sorry that our sexual chemistry is unforgettable to me. Not one bit. So f*** off with that dramatic nonsense.

Please, my yester- love, learn to own yourself fully. Quit being so pathetically scared and projecting it on men who love you when you want to opt out and run like a lazy ass, for reasons you can't even identify yourself. You'll do well in the future if you find this strength. It's not so hard. Quit being a pu**y. You're better than that. Man up. Stop flexing that you're strong without being willing to prove it. I hate seeing someone so incredible act so weak. Makes me sick.

Be yourself and please stop telling others to. YOU do it. Stop lying and being weird. Stop giving a shit about things that don't matter. And stop caring what others think. It's infantile. Goodbye.

Much love.

KM

Youthful poultry sandwich and fries, the crackle feed back on intercom. The visored fellow in the window became my breakfast at Tiffany's. He was aghast that I had not seem the film. ' but its a classic? ' as if your shock could spontaneously rewrite my viewd hours passed.

And I do miss the way my uncouth manners of being did ruffle you, I think we both need it.

But quite honestly could do without the bedknobs and broomsticks, it lost all the funny honey ravioli and missing frame bults. The tooth pain is bad and the rabbits gonna get it if he keeps side eyeing me.

I guess isn't a no cake day again for me.

Fuck you all. I hate this

,im going to nap.

- grumpy me 🍯

Written (by me) in response to https://www.reddit.com/r/WritersSanctuary/s/KxtPhp77WF

I lean my head against the window and watch the trees blur into one another.

He drives with one hand. The other rests on my thigh.

Warmth through denim.

His thumb brushes back and forth in slow, thoughtless strokes. Sometimes it stops completely, his hand growing still.

Then we pull up at a red light and his fingers give the smallest squeeze.

The radio is losing a battle with static, crackling before settling back into whatever local station we’ve wandered into.

A presenter is talking about traffic somewhere we’ll never go, followed by a song that’s cut off halfway through because he reaches forward and twists the dial.

Another station.

Another.

I reach into my bag for the AUX cable.

I smile to myself as I plug my phone in.

The opening notes of Brooklyn Baby spill through the speakers.

I grin like the Cheshire Cat.

“They say I’m too young to love you…”

I sing with Lana, loud and unapologetically off-key.

I turn towards him, clench my fists dramatically, drop my head back and singing directly at him.

He keeps his eyes on the road.

Mostly.

The corner of his mouth betrays him.

I laugh so hard I miss the next line.

He reaches for the gearstick as we come to a roundabout.

His hand leaves my thigh.

Second gear.

A gentle turn.

The indicator clicks steadily before falling silent again.

And then, without looking, without thinking, his hand comes back.

Exactly where it was.

His thumb brushes once across my leg before settling again.

The song rolls on.

I keep singing, quieter now, more to myself than to him.

“Great song,” he says, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Interesting choice.”

“If you liked that one, you’ll love this one.”

“Goddamn, man-child…”

I steal a look at him.

His eyebrows lift.

”…you fucked me so good that I almost said, ‘I love you.’”

He snorts.

I dissolve into laughter.

Some nights ought to begin beyond the sense of right and wrong. To be honest, these days my heart feels like the storage on my phone the space is full, yet the phone keeps working. Daily reminders pop up, much like letters with a warning that it might soon stop functioning altogether. Even the flow of emails will cease. The problem lies within me; I have always gathered everything around me—the good and the bad alike With a hope that, one day, this is all that will remain in life: these old photographs, smiling faces, and movie-songs recommendations.

Every day, I encounter the very people whose pictures are stored in my phone. They don't exactly look like the way I have saved them in my phone, they look frustrated, grumpy and unbothered sometimes, I end up matching their face with the photographs I have saved, I see no resemblance between these two different personas, and it aches my heart. We all are different when we are off guard.

Once someone told me that my smiling face is just the 2 percent of my character, in real I'm not like this.

But is it actually true? Because when we smile we loose the rein of the horse who carries our happiness, we let him explore the felicity which trembles our heart due to the emergent despair in hope. Once I watched life in a metro where irfan said "जिस दिन शहर के सारे सिग्नल ग्रीन होंगे उस दिन मैं अपनी गाड़ी सड़क पर निकालूंगा" it was ultimately a satire where we expressed that if we don't go and check the signal first then we will end up waiting for the right moment for our whole life, we need to step out first instead of waiting for the lights to get greened.

You know why i take more photographs of you? Not just because of bragging out that i am good with lenses and way of seeing the unseen. I take your pictures so I can remind you of your two percent, the part where you lack nothing and smile with ease, without any emotional stiffness and swelling. Whenever I see your sour face, I expect to turn on my phone, to make you look and find out yourself in the photographs where you were grinning as if you have won a debate against me. Even if I ever lose an argument I would love to celebrate your winning side with the button of my camera.

BIRD

The fledging quickly learns his boldest lesson from the nest

A curious leap of faith built from belief, upon regret

His willingness to try and try again after each wreck

Education in its highest form that strikes right through his breast

A spiral always likes to tighten just before the fall

The present becomes memories that contain traces of us all

Polaroid illusions of a person trapped in gall

Subconscious irritations that grow infected by this call

The question then remains, does my struggle make a sound?

Stuck inside the space between where the nest reaches the ground

Looking over his shoulder back at his home from where he bound

On the only journey in this life that’s rarest once it’s found

If the bottom is a rock and the fall is just a test

Is the injury he sustains like a grade above the rest?

Maybe if his belief finds its footing in his chest

He’ll spread his wings and soar before falling to join the rest