I know that you adored letters,
More than texts or emails.
Something of the old times
Always had a place in your heart –
Writing a letter with quill and ink,
Sprinkling your fragrance on it,
Filling it with love and kisses,
Owning a white pigeon deliverer,
Who’d fight all the odds and ordinaries
To deliver it safe and sound to me.
I know that it’s been months and seasons
Since we’ve spoken or seen each other.
I wonder if you still miss me,
I hope you still remember me,
I wish you’ve still clung onto us,
I pray that you check your mailbox.
Cause I’m afraid my postman fell ill,
So, I’m here on my own, in your city,
Down your street, at your gate,
To deliver my letter to you.
I know it’s not the way you’d dreamt of,
But I also know that you’d want to
See me rather than to just read me.
I hope you read it in a stretch,
Without pauses or delays,
Like you did to us.
I hope you come running down the street,
At our meeting place, so we could
Pick up on us and all our incomplete dreams.
I hope you know that I’ll be waiting, always.