[A letter found between the pages of an old diary. It is probably written by a crazy drunkard who does not know what things are to be said to the Queen of the Royalty. Thank God it could not reach her. But here, I make it public, since the man who wrote it is no more. I beg pardon if anybody finds it offensive due to any reason whatsoever, even though I am not its writer, of course.]
Your Highness,
You made my day. You were the first person I bumped into the moment I entered the hall. I didn’t know it was you. But as I went close and asked if I could come in, the mere sight of you gave me goose bumps. It was then that I realized it was you. I began to shiver. But, having dealt with such situations several times in history, I finally could control my physical, emotional and psychological reactions. I came and sat with one of my friends who seemed just as startled by your presence as I was—you see, mere presence. Somebody told me that you were checking our conduct—Heaven knows why. How was it supposed to be when angels like you were around? Do you have any idea what it did to all of us, what it always does? Anyway, I forgive you for that.
I didn’t know you were this beautiful. If I have ever been privileged to go high by the sensation of your presence, it is only twice in my entire life. The very first day I saw you, I unfortunately could not have a clear look of you, since I didn’t have my specs on. But I kind of knew you were on to something. You looked all messy that day, as far as my eyes could see. It was blurred but still good enough. However, the sight was not clear enough to drive me crazy. But still, everything happens for a reason. If I had seen you clearly that day and had already gone mad, I would not have derived as much pleasure from your presence as I did today, without having seen you well last time. The closer you came to me, the more I shivered. But I wasn’t afraid. Yes, I wasn’t afraid for the first time in my life. I was just unable to handle it. I didn’t know how to. So, as you came to me and started asking questions, I was blown. My face itched. My scalp itched. My hands went dry. My legs went cold. My back began to ache. But my crotch was fine, just as it had been since morning—calm, cool and unaffected by any external stimuli. It was then that I knew it was pure; whatever it was, it was pure and pious, and it had brought a deadly storm in the sea of my emotions. And it felt good thereafter.
Your Highness, your questions penetrated straight through my mind, and I found that I knew all the answers. I was, meanwhile, looking at your lips and your face, and I must say, they are so crimson. It seemed as if you had just finished your thick strawberry juice and now, you had scoffed a half of apple into each side of your mouth. And I liked the piercing on your nose, too. It looks beautiful on you. And your tiny earrings, and your thumb ring, and the tattoo on your back which is sometimes partially visible through the thin, translucent dress that you wear, and your footwear (I don’t know what it is particularly called), and the red lipstick that you adorn your lips with—they all look so beautiful on you. It is difficult for me to describe, in words, how blessed I have been to have a long sight of you today, that too, from very close. You were waiting for my answers and I was waiting for you to come even closer and blow me all at once. And I don’t believe in fate so I made it happen myself. I spoke in such a low tone that you had no option but bring your face closer so as to be able to listen to me. My answers were satisfactory, weren’t they? And finally, you said, ‘You are fine. No more questions.’ And the tiny smile that you gave me subsequently—I tell you, I lost my mind. I express my huge gratitude to you for kindling the little hope in me that now propels me to take risks again. I am thankful, really.
But there is one thing that bothered me today. You and your sister, both were around me and I didn’t know which to choose, first. You know what, she was the girl I first fell in love with. Please don’t be mad at me now. I am sorry. But I had not seen you then. I saw only her and I knew I was gone. But, like every other time, I brought myself back in control. I have a mission to fulfill, you know. And I cannot just go around loving every other girl I see. I have better things to do than women. But, the day I saw her—your sister—it was different. There was a deep sense of belongingness within me and I, for the first time in my life, felt free. That day, the place I used to find suffocating before, seemed to be equipped with almost everything—manners, propriety, friendship, laughter, fun, beauty and excitement, and also, love. It was the first time I didn’t feel lonely. I felt like I belonged somewhere. I had no right to complain. I was no longer isolated and it was all my wish. All through the day, my eyes were fixed on the strange girl I had the privilege to see for the first time around me. Your little sister, Your Majesty! I believed that she had come from a different world—my world, probably. You know, sometimes, a mere sight of someone carries you effortlessly to your remote yet dreamy past, and you find that it is right in front of you—all the fun, mistakes and mess—and you are living them again. She appeared, to me, a lonely girl lost in a dark jungle. I had lost my way, too, once upon a time, in the same jungle, and I needed someone to accompany me through the journey. I wish we’d met earlier; because now that I had seen her, I only could gather the courage to look at her from afar. My past always frightens me.
She was quiet as a rose and she had a cupcake in her hand. And here, I imagined myself holding her hand. If I had seen anyone else enjoy her sight, I would have burnt to ashes with jealousy. But there was no poet in the room except me. So only I knew how to distinguish art from people. And I knew she was a fine work of art, and I, the drunk, defeated artist.
Your Majesty, today as I write this letter to you, I want to be as honest as possible. I do not intend either to conceal or understate any ugly things that must be told. And I believe whatever I have confessed so far is not ugly at all. It is just my shameless yet beautiful reality. You are not the only woman I love and adore. There is one more, and a few others, as well. Sorry for breaking your heart. But, I would love to see you again, sometime. I am a chronic drunkard. I am a bad man with good lips. And I am a pro at falling. So I fell… in love.
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