Note: This series is a compilation of letters to my wife. We are no longer together and don’t speak to each other now. Through these letters, I tell her everything I would have told her. None of these letters were sent. Maybe they never will be. This series is inspired by Franz Kafka’s ‘Letters to Milena’
Hi Duggu,
It’s been almost twenty days since I last wrote. I kept telling myself I didn’t need to anymore. That the letters were starting to sound the same. But then last night, the AC in our room started humming that weird broken tune again, and I thought of you. It’s always the small, stupid things.
Like, how you would walk around the home, turning off all the lights I left on.
The Ladakh marathon prep is going alright. I’m still running. Early mornings, mostly. The roads are quieter then, and there’s something about watching the city wake up that makes me feel less alone.
I have re-started the cycling too. My knees hate me. The cramps show up at random. Some days I feel like an old man in a young man’s body. But I am at it. Still showing up. I am still pretending this training is about discipline and not about distracting myself from missing you.
The book club is steady. I haven’t quit, which is something. Last week, we talked about a novel where everyone felt slightly disappointed in each other but never admitted it. Felt familiar.
The house is quieter now. And not in a peaceful way. Just quieter. Like it’s waiting for someone to say something important. I feel you everywhere.
In the mandala painting you insisted we keep, even though I always found it ugly. In the cup you chipped and then decided you liked it more because of it. In the drawer you used to call yours. I still don’t put any of my stuff in that drawer. It still has your old AirPods in a Captain America cover.
You haunt this place without haunting it. It’s cruel, how absence can be so physical.
I know you’re not coming back. I do. But I still write to you like you might suddenly knock on the door just to ask where the remote is. Or complain that I am still not keeping our room clean.
I don’t say your name out loud anymore.
The AC’s still broken. I’ll probably get it fixed in a day or two. You know how bad I am with these things.
Hope you’re okay.
Still running, still here, still talking to you like it matters.
~ A
Office, Gurgaon
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This post was previously published on medium.com.
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