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Letter to JC
To My Love,
My Dearest JC,
I love you. I love you more than I can fathom myself or the world can comprehend. Before I met you, I didn’t understand what it meant to yearn, to long for someone so intensely. You became the capital font of all my desires and dreams, the centerpiece of my heart’s deepest cravings.
These feelings, my love, are not mere emotions; they are haunting melodies coursing through my veins, an unending flow of longing and despair. I once thought I understood love, but I realize now how naive I was. Even now, I cannot claim to fully grasp what love is.
But in this moment, love to me is agony—a deep, searing pain that reverberates through my body. Yet, I cannot curse this pain, for it is a gift born of my love for you, a love for which I am grateful.
How lucky I am to have known this kind of love, the kind I had only read about and dismissed as a foolish fantasy. How blessed I am to have loved someone so deeply that saying goodbye feels like the cruelest torment. And how tragic it is that I cannot have you.
Your love, your kindness, your touch, the feel of your breath on my skin, your tenderness, your smiles, your tears, your laughter, your fears, your rage, your pride—YOU through and through, I love with all my heart. Without you, I feel a void, an incompleteness, as if I were missing a vital part of myself.
We cannot choose whom we love. Love can never be forced. It comes knocking at our door when we least expect it, and we invite it inside our home, treating it as a guest. One day, when it leaves, we realize it was not a guest but a very part of our being, and then we feel crippled. Like a limb has been torn out of our body.
I am privileged to have had you, to have known you, to have felt you, even if only for a short while. To share the same air with you, even for a fleeting moment, is a privilege I hold dear. Yet, I am still poor. I am impoverished because I find myself begging for mere crumbs of your affection, like a starved, homeless man desperate for sustenance. Your one-word responses, your emocations, a simple "sure," a hesitant "maybe," those 30 seconds of seeing your face—they give me the strength to walk into the next day. How rich I would be if I had you entirely.
I am who I am, yet you are an essential part of my being. The ache, the break, the agony—they remind me that I am alive, that I am human. You are my sanity, my very breath. In this madness, I am doing all I can to move forward, to keep going, to take one wobbly step at a time. I put myself out into the world, but my eyes search only for you. In everyone and everything that is not you, I find no solace. Where did I lose my innocence?
Darling, I live and breathe your repulsion towards me, slowly poisoning myself to a wretched, slow end. Yet, I gladly hold my cup of poison and swallow it every day because it contains traces of you. I am grieving as one grieves the dead, cycling through denial, anger, confusion, depression, and acceptance. My grief has no end; I am trapped in an endless loop of memories, where time and space malfunction in my life.
This book, I wrote through my journey. I wrote it for you. You weren’t my first muse, but you are my last. Keep this as a reminder that you are loved, that you will always be loved. You have a space in my heart forever. I may sound as foolish as a jester juggling his life, but I find my strength in my vulnerability.
I love you, through and through.
Yours always,
Neethal Sequeira
© NeethalSequeira
My Dearest JC,
I love you. I love you more than I can fathom myself or the world can comprehend. Before I met you, I didn’t understand what it meant to yearn, to long for someone so intensely. You became the capital font of all my desires and dreams, the centerpiece of my heart’s deepest cravings.
These feelings, my love, are not mere emotions; they are haunting melodies coursing through my veins, an unending flow of longing and despair. I once thought I understood love, but I realize now how naive I was. Even now, I cannot claim to fully grasp what love is.
But in this moment, love to me is agony—a deep, searing pain that reverberates through my body. Yet, I cannot curse this pain, for it is a gift born of my love for you, a love for which I am grateful.
How lucky I am to have known this kind of love, the kind I had only read about and dismissed as a foolish fantasy. How blessed I am to have loved someone so deeply that saying goodbye feels like the cruelest torment. And how tragic it is that I cannot have you.
Your love, your kindness, your touch, the feel of your breath on my skin, your tenderness, your smiles, your tears, your laughter, your fears, your rage, your pride—YOU through and through, I love with all my heart. Without you, I feel a void, an incompleteness, as if I were missing a vital part of myself.
We cannot choose whom we love. Love can never be forced. It comes knocking at our door when we least expect it, and we invite it inside our home, treating it as a guest. One day, when it leaves, we realize it was not a guest but a very part of our being, and then we feel crippled. Like a limb has been torn out of our body.
I am privileged to have had you, to have known you, to have felt you, even if only for a short while. To share the same air with you, even for a fleeting moment, is a privilege I hold dear. Yet, I am still poor. I am impoverished because I find myself begging for mere crumbs of your affection, like a starved, homeless man desperate for sustenance. Your one-word responses, your emocations, a simple "sure," a hesitant "maybe," those 30 seconds of seeing your face—they give me the strength to walk into the next day. How rich I would be if I had you entirely.
I am who I am, yet you are an essential part of my being. The ache, the break, the agony—they remind me that I am alive, that I am human. You are my sanity, my very breath. In this madness, I am doing all I can to move forward, to keep going, to take one wobbly step at a time. I put myself out into the world, but my eyes search only for you. In everyone and everything that is not you, I find no solace. Where did I lose my innocence?
Darling, I live and breathe your repulsion towards me, slowly poisoning myself to a wretched, slow end. Yet, I gladly hold my cup of poison and swallow it every day because it contains traces of you. I am grieving as one grieves the dead, cycling through denial, anger, confusion, depression, and acceptance. My grief has no end; I am trapped in an endless loop of memories, where time and space malfunction in my life.
This book, I wrote through my journey. I wrote it for you. You weren’t my first muse, but you are my last. Keep this as a reminder that you are loved, that you will always be loved. You have a space in my heart forever. I may sound as foolish as a jester juggling his life, but I find my strength in my vulnerability.
I love you, through and through.
Yours always,
Neethal Sequeira
© NeethalSequeira
