The sun seems to be playing with the clouds today;
maybe it doesn't want to set?
As it tries to dodge the dark cotton above,
a sliver of the soothing orange light touches
a dark corner of my unlit room.
There lies an old desk from the past,
on which rest some memories of my young heart;
some crooked pictures of an unbothered smile,
some incomplete letters,
click pens and paper clips.
It's soothing how certain things make you
long for the times that are buried deep within.
No matter how deep you dig,
you can never get a hold of them.
I remember how the younger me used to pretend
to sleep on the sofa outside my room
and how my father ensured
I woke up, warm in my bed.
I had this habit of sending out December letters
to the people who impacted my life the past year,
as a token of nothing but love.
I used to write them with a click pen,
the same that I witness lying untouched
on my desk,
It was the last gift from my grandma.
The letter that I see now was the one
I was writing to her, to which
I never could find an appropriate end.
My last letter.
Every word after that was incomplete.
Without her, life itself was incomplete.
Drowning in my inner realm,
the sun is beginning
to recall its last ray from the corner of my room.
I see it- setting unwillingly.
Smiling, I move my gaze to see
the fading light falling upon a picture,
hung loosely somehow with a paperclip.
It is a picture of her.
She loved to be in pictures and I
loved to paper clip them onto pins.
The day is ending now;
and so is my urge to end the darkness.
Content, I walk up to the desk,
pick up the click pen.
December starts today.
It is time for some December letters.
Bhumika was born and raised in the picturesque city of Dehradun, Uttarakhand. She is a student of music and dance and looks towards all things art with great fascination. She started writing when she was quite young and hasn't stopped since.