One day if I write you a letter, will you hold it near your heart in your breast pocket? I wonder if you'd sit on the familiar black couch and read the lines. Or would you recline on the rocking chair near the window, with the cream yellow of the lamp making patterns on the right half of your face? Would there be a sparkle in your eyes, remembering the fire we once had? Or would your eyes glide down to the end of the note, passionately caressing the letters of my name!
One day if I write you a letter, would you save it inside our favorite book -- the one you used to read to me? I wonder if that dusty book shelf near your bed has been replaced by something flamboyant. Or would you rather have it in the deep drawers of your bedside table -- the one we bought together to place the reading lamp your mother got from her Venice trip. Or maybe, you’ll keep it under your pillow, the smell of your hair embracing each letter when you are away, until one day the ink fades away.
If one day I write you a letter, would you imagine my voice in your head?
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