She Through Me

This is an extract from a series of exchanges. She lives in Europe, amidst subdued suns and overwhelming cold. Her beauty needs to be told.

Dear ...........,

    I imagine you reading this letter snuggled under your quilt, shying away from the western winter.  I intend hence, to give you some warmth and some early morning love to carry you through the day. I wonder if I can ever give these to you by the touch of my hands... by my fingers... and by my lips. If I can ever marvel your serene eyes when I speak to you. If I can ever watch you speak in your mystic tone and pretend to be all ears but actually stay lost in the depth of your eyes.  If I can ever have you whisper to me your desires and allow you the liberty to discover mine. You're so far away from me.  Farther than eternity. The only semblance I have of you are your letters. The words in them are like imprints of your expressions parceled and sent my way for being treasured forever. I often practice a deception on myself, to evade the agony of not being near you, by telling myself that you are as near me as the letters of you words. But everytime I run my fingers on them, I only find glass.

   I know now that you're a strong woman and you don't require support. Honestly that is a bit disheartening. It's like bitter gain. Though I'm proud that my beloved is strong, but the fact that she doesn't require any caring, kind of renders my existence in her life meaningless. I secretly wish that may you always need love and caring and that I'd be always around to shower them on you.  

 I'll now tell you the words which came to me when I began to know you and when I first saw you.

My love, have you ever been bedazzled over and over again ? Like now by a particular admirable facet of someone's nature and concluded  that you're fortunate to have a person with such attribute and then to your utter sweet surprise discover another  part  which is equally remarkably suited to your yearnings. I'll explain. After the first time we spoke, I felt an intense longing to converse with you all the time. Like I was waiting since millennia for you to liberate me with your words. You did. I was intensely drawn to you. Then came your description of me. That sealed my fate, in a way beyond my deepest reckoning. Our little disagreements made me want you further. And that was when I saw your picture. 

The first thing that filled my eyes were your lips. They seemed pink, with affection sealed in them, full, complete, ready to give inimitable pleasure to the one that's destined to feel them. I sensed that they also carry a burden. I looked deeper into them, waited for some more time, outweighing their patience to hide what they didn't want to show to fleeting passers by. I wanted to prove to them I wasn't one. And then I saw  on them the weight of silence, the marks of words which often return from their edges instead of being delivered to the world through them. I instantly wanted to kiss your lips. To drink away their burden, to unfetter them, to relieve them into the freshness of the world - to release them from all weights and shackles. It is my wish to one day see your lips in peace, simply resting against each other, lazying, when they are not performing any command to speak, smile, laugh or frown.

 Striding further, my eyes caught your chin. Your chin, I gather, holds the ultimate invitation. Its like a unignorable projection of your magnetism. It truly remains with the onlooker, making him powerlessly fancy things. It's where exactly a man must keep his lips when he is cuddling up with you after.... It would keep him ever fond. Your eyes, they are half shut because of the naughty - sweet smile that you have made us happy with. I can only wonder how they'd look when they are not stressed. I wonder what desires they would transmit forth, what mysteries they will intrigue me with. I wish to see your eyes when you are happy, when you are expressive, when you are not happy and ultimately when you experience the feeling of belonging to someone. 

What I could not also miss were your fingers. They are so orderly, so neat, so fragile. I'm instantly filled with a burning jealousy for anyone who has ever slid his fingers on yours or anyone who will ever do that in future. I fancy the weight of your featherly palm when you'd caress someone. The blurred yet distinct bracelet that dangles on your slender wrist, looks beautiful on you. Interestingly you have worn black and I know it's your favourite colour. Bottomline - It really seems meant for you. Looks perfect. I quickly visualize and guess that white - pure and unblemished white, would also look breathtaking on you. Your hair, as I had guessed is faultless - shining black and straight. I may be mistaken about its exact colour, since I'm looking at your picture,  They cascade like streams from the firmament right on your shoulders, caressing them, guarding your attractive face like twin warriors. Their parting above your temple is picture perfect. By habit of mind, I instantly imagine how they must look when teased by a wild breeze, playfully tossing around your beautiful face. 

My eyes tantalizingly seek their path through your lean neck and they plead to travel all the way down the enticing neighbourhood south. But I comfort them by telling it isn't time yet. We agree to leave that fortune to the privileged soul whom you'd delight with your company.

Love