Dear Engineer,

I know you care, but, NO, I don’t need a fucking protector. I didn’t need you to worry about me. I needed a friend, to be held, and for you to be real, just plain real and simple with me. But you threatened me with empty promises and burned it all with three words of denial. Now, go back to the whore and find another hole to fuck while I cry about the guy I metaphorically killed. 

It’s funny how feelings work, right? When you are emotionally vulnerable and you just want to co-exist with the person you surprisingly connect with, the same person uses you as a commodity to get over their lover of many years. What’s funnier is the fact that they always tend to play the victim card and rationality loses its path. But in the process of demoralising our sexualities and communicating inappropriately, you tend to drift back to the spiral of toxicity, killing the love that she had for you which made her the whore she is today. 

But you, you stupid little fuck, you said the most beautiful words that I’ve ever heard and felt and I’ve never felt so secure after he passed. You made me feel so loved and happy, that at a point I did think we had a chance because it’s always been way too hard for me to throw open my barriers and let people in. There are people who take advantage of my emotional vulnerability, use me like a doormat and leave and I felt I was just your rebound when you told me we will never have a future. 

But fuck you, you want to get hurt, you want this pain and you fucking want to be shattered and never be healed, so you deserve the whore that she’s become because of you. You deserve the pain she splatters on you in the form of blood stripped bones and a sum of emotional dacoits to break you further in the manwhore you’ve become, just so you can identify any hole as your glory hole and fuck it till you’re empty inside. Oh wait, you’re already empty, isn’t that why I was there? In the middle of your fucking love affair where both of you were being the whores that you are today, while I was sidelined unknowingly because you wanted bruises so deep that she’s lick them all off and you’d be hers again. But wait, what the fuck was I doing there? Just thinking about the feelings that I expressed were fucking reciprocated perfectly by you, making me feel loved and special, again, unknowingly and unable to understand that I was just your fuckwhore, someone you’d dust your hands off and leave with your mouth drooling for your lover. 

And you ask why I felt disposable? 

Your lost “friend”

Sonia David

Dear Cadaverous Lover,

It has rather been an extensively enduring and uncomfortable ride from possessing the fortitude to choose my career over this brainchild of matrimonial amalgamation since my under graduate studies to, actually becoming a PhD research scholar. Even though, I was one among handful who made it through to the PhD programme out of 100s, but you didn’t seem quite happy to hear it. Nevertheless, when we decided to meet on that weekend since I guess I thought it was high time we discussed our distinctively contrasting careers, but habitually, our decisions led to one fight over another. But that Monday. That Monday I was determined to fund my own education because it meant the world to me. So, that Monday morning, I proudly paid my fees at the University, relinquishing the unnoticed 44 missed calls on my phone from your impetuously impulsive roommate. Before I could take another breadth, I found myself standing in front of your blood-soaked body. You lied there, unmoved as I repeatedly whispered “wake up please”, trying to breathe. Aghast and aphonic,, I lost my voice. As I stood there, unbelievably stunned, I couldn’t articulate with my dry mouth and frozen hands. You just lied there, lifeless on a metal bed, motionless.Running back to the toilet in an unnecessary urgency, I sat there, anesthetized. Weeping eventually for a few hours before I walked out, shivering. I called my mother and elucidated everything. But here's the funny part, by the time she arrived, my tears had temporarily dried and I was forced to wear my counselor's hat to console my mother and your roommate.

Your mother had always been an absolute brute to me because I was unconventional and more educated than you. But that day, when I had to make that call to inform her about you, she didn’t metamorphose emphatically. She in fact, barbarously accused me of being the reason behind your death. “He wouldn’t have been there if it wasn’t for you”, she said, as I irrepressibly choked. I had progressively and regularly forgotten to cry or mourn because my responsibilities as a 'daughter' would frantically restrict me every time I took a breadth. I remember when you had lured me to overcome my addiction of drugs and alcohol, but I went ahead and killed myself anyway, contemplating it would help me cry at least, and it did. As I spent over Rs. 40,000 on hard drugs and alcohol, I wasn't remorseful for even a second because guiltless and irresponsibly despite my broken arm, I wanted to bleed to death like you did. Orphaned and abandoned more than I should have, but I was determined to join you in heaven or hell because that's how much I fucking loved you. 8 months have passed and I’m still unwelcome at social drinking gatherings because, “How much more will you cry for him, Sonia?” is the only question that echoes. How could I tell, not just my closest friends, but also my family that I haven’t mourned, because I haven’t been able to? It still hurts me to walk by his house or check on his parents once in a while. My heart weeps when I’m being blamed for what happened to one of the most important persons in my life. I couldn’t. I couldn’t tell them. Because I’m a “psychologist” and a PhD scholar. I mean, what could possibly go wrong with these two?

But just as you acted unemotional and cold throughout my existence in your life, I became that person today. I became unemotional, manipulative, selfish, cold and contriving because my scars haven't healed and my heart is still shattered into more pieces than you left it. It probably always will be.

Seen you soon on the other side.

With Love, 

The Girlfriend Who Mothered You.

Dear Brian,

It’s 2019 already. This is the first Christmas and New Year without you and it’s been exceptionally hard. I remember last Christmas in church, we professed our long term plans for and with each other. “Let’s grow old together”, you said, do you remember? There are times when I still cannot come to terms with reality but there are also times when I am absolutely engrossed with my career that I sometimes forget you were dilapidated.

I can’t tell you how much you are terribly missed and you will always be the biggest part of my life. I don’t know how much of a toll it’s taken on me but I promise you that you will always be remembered because you are invariably cherished. This New Years, the void and absence in my heart which you left is slowly starting to be filled with more love, kindness, forgiveness and humility. Through the grief and despondency, your absence has taught me to be more benevolent and thoughtful in so many ways of my life. Although there were moments in our relationships that defined abuse and captivating amorousness, you have changed my life in ways that has made me stronger, happier and braver to confront the worst situations as they come.

Even though you aren’t here right now, I know you’re in a better place right now and I want you to know that you will be deeply embraced and enshrined in my life forever. I love you.

Lots of Love,

Sonia David

PhD Scholar

The Fresh Blood

It was ruptured. Not my genitalia, but my quintessence. I wanted to tell her how much I missed her and how much I loved her but I missed most, having her around, connecting with the essence of my subsistence. She was cold. Colder than the carcass of him, the boy who died earlier than he should have. He was pronounced dead even when his soul still lived amongst us, feeding on our corpuscles through torturous yet strenuous shackles that I couldn’t be liberated from. Smothered and congested with the doctrines of provocative fornication towards anybody who was lustful. It ruptured me, my oesophagus, my vagina, my vehemence, my consciousness, my dexterity. 

She was an embodiment of the dybbuk that extinguished my every contemplating moment. But, the blood that she fed on, it was not that from the veins, but from the heart. She broke my arteries, independently and unrestrictedly, until I screamed in excruciating despondency. It was done. The fresh blood was utilised to feed her, as she estranged and disrupted my pudenda. The bright red, dense liquid oozed out of my uterus as she imbibed and ingurgitated my lineage. The blurred lines of desecration and gluttony caused my existence to be catechised. The fresh blood, kept her alive. 

The bubbly crimson secretion from my genitals gave life to the beastly existence of my egos. The personalities I no longer was afraid of. The manic whore and the corwardly celibate. They were both fragments of the dynamism of my psyche. Just as I began unquestionably surrendering to her, she asphyxiated me as she bolstered on the fresh blood. 

Dear Brian,

I want to marry you, not your parents, not your mother, not your sister and certainly not your father. I have nothing but immense respect for your family and you. You might get a little frustrating and extremely difficult at times, but i’m not here to give up. I’m here to hold on, hug you, even strangle you to death if needed. There is nothing more important to me than my family and my career. As much as I want you to attain success and stability, I want the same for myself. I don’t want to marry you only for the house maid you are, are, but, I want to marry you for the memories, the company, the assurance, the hand holdings and the romance and the laughs and the fights and the cries and the pranks and the mischief and the bond. 

I want to be with you because I have never connected with anyone else as much as we did, irrespective of the discord we have. I want to love you and spend moments that are irreplaceable. I want to look forward to things, not dwell in the past and brood over our present. I want to feel good about myself, about each other, about you. I want to hold your hand, be by your side, not cook for your mother and be a prisoner of your family. I want to work, work harder than ever. I want to take care of my mother because regardless of how important you are or you’ll ever be, my mother has and always will be my alpha and my rock. I love you, but if you can’t stand up for me when all evidence proves me right, I can’t be with you. 

So, I’m going to give you a choice. Maybe a hard choice, but not an impossible one for you. So, think calmly, visualise, foresee, rationalise and then we’ll talk. Until then, I love you Brian, but there are some grounds I can’t let go of. 

Goodbye.
Looking forward to hearing from you.
Lots of abundant love,
Sonia David

Agglomeration

Very often we dream of people we love and expect them to stay in our lives until we wrinkle or settle in our graves, but how often does that really happen? Have we wondered how many people think of us the same way as they eventually give up on their lives and pass away? Even if we might not have thought about them, they still exist, knowingly or unknowingly. Just as I was wondering about how my aunt meant so much to me, I, like most others, didn't get a chance to say goodbye to her. The last goodbye that molded how she treated me, teaching me to treat others in the same manner, that goodbye that giggled when we were up to mischief behind my mother's back, that goodbye that enabled me to finally stand up for myself even when my dearest ones didn't support me at times. She will not only be missed, but I am most certain that she will continue to remain in the realms of my heart until my neck is wrinkled.

Along with the numerous people who in a way love and support others, there are also those who cannot stand to see one's success or joy. You, Oliver are one of those who are meant to be cherished with most value, not only in one's heart but in one's life. I don't see how anyone could take you for granted or neglect you because you are someone who deserves to get all the attention in the world even if you're doing nothing at all. Oliver, you have given me a kind of insight that I have never come across in my life, demanding me to be myself and execute every activity that I most dearly love. This connection may have been shaken at one point in time because of unnecessary lust, but this very connection can never be broken even if we wanted it to. Our rawness and realism is what makes it authentic, original and 'us'. We might take months to get closer but each step of closeness, both emotional and intimacy has only made us more humane over the months.

I love you Oliver for who you are, not for who you've been or your ridiculously creepy curly hair or your height or your skinny bum. I love you Oliver for your patience, your nonsensical laugh, your ridiculous PJ's, your successes in your workplace and your cute boss, your maturity, your music, your fruity ice cream choices, your hand, your fragrance, your touch, your humongous nose, your little eyes, your ability to stay calm throughout, your everything, except your name though. But I love you, irrespective. You have made me feel so happy in over the months that I haven't felt before, making me realize more and more everyday that I don't deserve you and that you deserve someone who is much better than me solely because I am nobody. I am humbled and blessed to have someone like you in my life, to even love me so much that I don't deserve, to see me eat Gulab jamuns even when you love them but will never ask only so that I could eat them. I love you for your little buttocks that I feel like spanking all the time because its sexy. I love you because you never touched me if I didn't want you to. You deserve so much more and I feel more than guilty to not be able to love you enough. But I promise, I'll do my forever best to love you harder, more gentle, more beautiful and more than I have ever loved anyone. 

Disfigured

The groom’s brother had arrived home, to pick the bride up and the environment was so exciting. The bride was thrilled to know that she is finally marrying the man her parents wanted her to. The only thing that she was unaware of was the fact that he was not what he seemed to be, or what people talked about. Where one door opened for the bride with welcoming beguiler arms, the other closed in demise as she walked out of her parent’s house. The event of marriage as she exchanged rings with her husband and his family was so suspicious that she never would have known how the following months would pass. Love at first sight proved to be as devastatingly wrong for her as she gave in to him, with both mind and body. Only her soul seemed free, yet captured in her body where she was ruthlessly abused by her husband day and night.




With days passing by at the speed of a wounded snail, she found herself abducted in the midst of her mother-in-law and her husband. “He was a pastor and a lawyer they said, until he bruised my body on the night of our wedding.”
Her wounds were so profound that she wasn’t a bride anymore but a mere helpless victim of paranoia and sexual sadism. Her husband pleaded in court and to her parents that he didn’t kill her, but, who would believe him? Who would swallow the details of the bride’s lesions of the slash and his teeth bites implanted on her skin? The vulgar sting of his forced beastly structure on her not only compelled the bride to become a bare cadaver but also had him strangling in his own compulsive thoughts about how to destroy her further.




But, who would believe him anyway when he seemed alright and his parents supported in the suicide of his bride?