I know I haven’t even reached a quarter of a century in age yet. But this I can say, it has been one hell of a ride. And this moment right now I have been compelled to look back on all those wonderful moments which you’ve given me, opportunities you’ve showered me with, kindness you’ve showed me and all the wonderful people you’ve had me come across. No matter how little or big the problems were and no matter how bad the times were, there was always something to be thankful for at the end of each day.
It’s difficult to comprehend all the little details of the concatenation of things which make me thankful. But it’s deeply felt; the gratitude. You’re indecipherable yet simple; your intricacies enthral me every day. There must be some twisted logic behind all that follows a good day- that smile, the laughter, the wind, the dogs, the butterflies, the leaden sky, the shore, the eyes of your lover, the touch, soft bed-sheets, rain- which is never ending. I know it’s entirely arbitrary and this isn’t even the apotheosis of you.
But I am thankful for all the sublime moments and I am thankful for all that you’ve taught me in my abject moments. As overwhelmed as I might have been, as “unlucky” and as deranged as I might have felt, I’ve always gathered the strength you’ve somehow instilled into me, to get back up to you again. And in those moments, I believe that I’ve lived you before I even existed. I guess such is your magic. To just know, when to do the right thing, when to escape from a dangerous place, when to say hello to someone, when to look in time to catch them looking at you, when to stop talking or when to go to loo. You’re an austere grandeur, unique in all your exquisiteness. Mine, yet connected to hundreds and hundreds to come.
And from being completely clueless and having no idea as to where you were “going”, to finding the patience to connect the dots, I’ve learnt to live you pristinely, genuinely. And now as I cascade though my elusive thoughts, I could almost discern a fact about you, a fact which always seemed to have whizzed past me in moments of utter confusion and indignation – that you were never complicated. That you were as easy to live as you were to rewind, that you were as chaotic as I made you out to be. So, I’m sorry. I’ve always had some twisted idea of perfection about you, that you should be orderly and neat, easy and sweet, all the time. But they say that you don’t come with instructions and that we’ve got to make our own. You’re laughing, right? I guess you must. You only know what sorts of instructions you’ve hidden in a cryptext somewhere.
But I love you. I love every little feeling, every blush and every touch, every dance and every song, and how you’ve managed to interconnect delicately and gradually, with everything and everyone. Remember, not even a quarter, but oh so many subtle and good times. And I don’t know which the right way to live is or if I’ll ever know or if there even exists a right way; but I know I’ll be as true to you as I possibly can, until the very last day you’re with me. The love I feel is strong, what I show to you is just a mere reflection of my exterior, so I’m sorry if I show too little and if I am dingy too often. And thank you for loving me right back, no matter what.
Thank you. Love you.