Fleeting Waves: A Love Lost in Silence

He smiles, and I wave back at him; this has become a daily routine by now. He lives where? I don’t know; his name is what? I don’t know, yet the sight of him at the park every morning during my routine jog makes my mind numb. Every day I curse myself for being too shy and not being able to go to a total stranger and pop the question. I haven’t been as productive as I was, and I don’t blame anyone but the handsome who jogs by me in the morning, roams my mind in the night, and has found an abode to live in my heart. What to say and what not to say, may one think when their mind works, mine is still numb. The worst he can say is NO. That’s what I keep telling myself, but a person who is not accustomed to rejection usually shys away from it.

Her hair, the way that they fall over her shoulders. Her eyes, as blue as the ocean and just as deep as the ocean. I don’t know how to swim, but diving into her memories, I would jump without hesitation. I smile at her every day. I wait for her to spark the conversation, but she seems shy. I am hesitant at first, but then I do what I am good at: I pick up my pen.

Enslaved in this building, working like robots every day from 9 to 5, life isn’t going as pre-planned; again, my plans don’t often work, so this is normal. I open my purse to get a dollar and fetch a refreshment from the vending machine on my right. A crumpled paper, it sits on top of everything else. Is this some new way of giving termination notice to employees, taking them by surprise? I gently open the page, and the formatting seems as if it is a letter. I read it:

To the girl, whom I smile at every morning like a creep.

Shit. I had put my purse on the bench this morning, he might have placed it there, considering he is who I think he is.

If you are wondering whose pen wrote the letter, then know that it is the guy you wave at every morning who is trapping his feelings in the ink placed on this very paper. From the day I first started jogging, I had no idea it would become a habit, but your sight, if such a thing awaits me every morning, a couple of miles on the track don’t bother me. I don’t know what it is that has forced me to write this letter—is it your ocean-deep eyes, or is it the way you smile back at me.

I cherish the memories of our stolen glances and relive the morning jog all day long.

If you have the same intensity of feelings for me that my heart carries for you then reply, or at least drop a hint as I can’t live more without the thought of never hearing your voice.

Regards,

Your _____; fill it in yourself.

Why does life make us so busy? Why? I have come to question life and the fate that has been woven for me. Sick for a whole month? A whole month, and I have not been able to reply to the letter.

The park seems empty today, without him, even my heart feels empty.

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Noo, my scream that day was heard by even the dead in their graves. And with that, fate made me know that love was not written for me to be cherished in my life.