(I know you love the suffix writer along your name).
Before we indulge into an elegant mess of your share of omnifecence (unlimited creativity) . I want you to know, "you" carry magic on your sleeves and words in your veins, don't let the world make you believe otherwise.
Most of the writers are not "born" writers. They were "created" .
You invented one for yourself. You established it over the ruins of thoughts and monologues your heavy heart carried for years.
You made all the tornadoes run through your shivering veins, flow amidst your favorite ink and terminate subtly onto a blank paper.
Your "poems" define the "you", you are. They love you in a way, the word "idealise" was born. They hate your tears , more than you love it. They soak your sadness and hide them between the lower curve of the "g's" and the "y's".
You don't ruin your life by idealising it you make the world seem a better place atleast somewhere.
And, All the great poems with happy endings and soft touches ,has an aching heart with two swollen eyes behind it.
One day you'll meet a boy, who loves foreign languages and strange theories, who talks about parallel world and makes you believe in wonderlands. Who's intelligence touch you on a different dimension. Who bakes your favorite brownie and loves to watch it melt in your mouth, who seems like a people pleaser custom made for you. Who annoys you to deep breaths,but have answers to all your freakish dilemmas. Who will make your stomach ache with butterfly flaps and strong superstorm as he walks to you, who's voice sounds as smooth as satan, that'll make you lose sense of any earthy surrounding. And when he finally hugs , you'll watch universes collapse underneath your feet. Who'll make your heart run to a different rhythm. Who'll make you want sacrifice everything."
This letter is my piece of hope travelling through seven oceans all at once. The chance of this reaching you is same as one day I stop overthinking all together. You're special to me on different degrees, I lack words about.
The novel 'The God of small things' , I read this masterpiece when I was 16 , it's been three complete years now, I still remember every nuance, every emotion concerned through it as clear as crystals gleaming in bright sunshine. The way , through this book you created ripples, through my dead sea of emotions , the waves though feeble now, I still carry profoundly within me as someone doomed out of light, holds on to the last ray.
The way you poured every possible human relationships into such profound words is simply spectacular and breathtaking in every possible language this planet, and all other planets within and beyond milky way have ever known or will ever know.
You made me rethink my ideologies on how I see and decipher relations in my real life. The complexity of what we humans hold within, deliver and perceive, you shook my understanding about all of it at once.
This novel is more of a collection of painful thoughts, and human emotions beautifully carved through magnificent poems.
You have no idea how you stirred poetry , magic and realism to my otherwise dull life.
Thanks would be a zilch in comparison to how your work affects me.