A letter to the guy who doesn’t return home

To the guy who doesn’t return home at night,

You are the typical bad boy. You return home if you wish, you don’t if you don’t feel like returning. The world thinks you have gone nuts, you have nothing to achieve, nothing to accomplish, nothing to look after. Actually they think, you will not listen anything, will not take anything seriously and do anything properly. So they easily jump into a conclusion that you are a bad boy!
Believe me, I do get you. A pros, a drink, a puff, a party, a crime…whatever engages you at night, is actually a hallucination to keep you away from reality; and you are weak enough to fall prey to it. A hallucination becomes your fad when reality tears you apart over and over. There might be a storm inside you, there might be rainstorms or sunshower or something very poignant trying to come out of you. But you don’t realise it, sadly. So, you make yourself believe in cheap pleasures…a bottle of rum, a porn, a street prostitute, a powder roll, women, smuggling, gambling or whatever exists in the world. These things only intensify your senses and you go away from dream, love, sunshine and soul. You forget to look inside, you forget to show your soul, forget to appreciate little joys of nature. Then, one fine day, the real you dies to the drugs, to the crime, to the humanity. You stop feeling for home, for mom.
I do believe in your past. You once were most softhearted, soft-spoken human alive in the world. But I do trust you. I know, there is still a person, a child inside your dusky heart who tremendously needs love. I know you will enjoy the sunset more than dark smokey nights. I know you will enjoy the bright days more than the gloomy drug-stained nights and lipstick-stained shirts. You just need to believe, you are a good boy…you’re just a good boy with bad thoughts and worst past. You have to believe that life is new as day and old as time. You have to look beyond your hallucination. If you look beyond, you will see the melting sunshine, it has nothing to do with alcohol or your idea of enjoyment. Life is a love letter long enough to beat the paper rolls which carry powdered drugs.

Yours,
A person who understands your pain.

©Joyee

An open letter to the guy who is a mess

To the guy who is a mess,

I cleanse my room, decorate the walls, cover the floor with carpet…and wait for you to come over and make it a mess once again! You scatter everything of its place, rumple the bedsheet, take down my favorite posters, erase my written words from the wall, you attempt to make coffee or omelette just to make my kitchen a mess, you feed the whole milk to our pet cat, you polish the fish off plate and keep rice as it is, you bring cauliflower when I ask you to buy broccoli, you spill the ‘Bourn Vita’ on my freshly prepared bed, you leave the half eaten biscuits on the table and ants come to bite me, you make airplane tearing my notebook page, you fill the washing machine with your old dirty jeans and my favorite jacket, you replace my face wash with your shaving cream, you open the window amid storms and dusts come to puzzle me; you open the window amid rains and the sudden splash makes my things wet…
Still I open the window and wait for you. I see two people in the same umbrella and imagine us; I watch the colorful cars on nearly empty rainy streets and imagine us on a road trip. I enjoy our midnight conversations, drunk confessions and fights over a bar of chocolate or a tub of ice cream. I miss the passionate kisses. I love it how you skip the dinner and eat all the cookies at 1 am. I love it how you save the last cookie for me. I watch you as you fall asleep on the floor like a baby. I truly wait for you to come and make my room a mess once again. I find messy things really attractive when the reason is you. I inhale you from those messy things, I touch you through them. You are my mess.

Sincerely,
The girl who waits for you.

©Joyee

Pic courtesy: pt.depositphotos.com

 

To the girl who was my everything

To the girl who was my everything,

Girl, I know you are mad at me. I do understand your anger; that’s why I am writing to you rather than speaking on phone.
Yes, I am guilty. I have cheated on you with another woman. But believe me, I didn’t do anything intentionally. This is happening to me for the first time. I was always loyal to you. I never let any woman touch my shirt, keep head on my shoulder; I never hold their hands. I have politely said ‘no’ to coffee dates. Still, I couldn’t resist this woman. I have discovered a new me getting lost in her. She has colored my soul with a vibrant shade of red. And this red is the color of devastation. For the first time, I am letting my house collapse on fire, I am watching the storm raffle my belongings and a part of me getting shattered with you. I am watching you falling apart and dying inside.
I don’t know why this is happening to me. As if a sudden ray of the afternoon sun has touched me to make me do things that are purely illogical. I have taken off the shirt tagged with ‘good boy.’ For the first time, I’m enjoying being a bad boy. I didn’t gain anything being good for years. I know, being bad won’t help either. Still, I want to get carried away. I know, you are probably cursing me, praying for my destruction and I want to get destroyed, happily. The sin tastes so good!
I will never deny our connections; I will never disown any association with you. You will always be there in a secret cell of my heart.

From,
The boy whom you don’t want to see anymore.

©Joyee

An open letter to the bad boy

Dear bad boy,
None can describe you; you are beyond words.
None can bless you; you are beyond blessings.
None can fight with you; you are beyond war.
None can win you; you are beyond defeat!
You don’t let anyone touch your soul. You are like an oozing river, carrying so many stones inside; those stones of indifference, lost love, hatred, loneliness, withdrawal and betrayal don’t let you settle.
I know you. I know that you want to carry a bird’s nest on your head. Your eyes cry of love, not dusts. Your heart is broken and beyond repair. Your home is broken long ago. Still, you crave for motherly touch, a lovely land, a homemade meal and a shelter when the sky is really overcast. You crave for a home, a sweetheart to return to at the end of the day. The reality is very cruel. Here, a bad boy has to be bad in every sense. Our society will always tear of the flower inside you and make you a cactus.
So, I have a request. Please carry the flowery heart always. Never let people fully know you; let them judge you from distance. And you carry on being the fresh raindrop of early monsoon!

Sincerely,
Someone still sees good in you!
©Joyee