Letters to S.: The melancholy whores of my mind

I woke up in the middle of the night and felt a strange sensation of skipping a heartbeat. Perhaps, it felt like I was missing an organ so I tried looking for her. She was not beside me and I did not have any recollection of her presence. My eyes wandered deliriously looking for all places that she could be at but there was no trace of her.

After ransacking through all my life in a flash, I realised that she abandoned me S.

S., When she left again yesterday, it was for the 7th time this month, 109th time this year and millionth time probably after I first spent that magical evening with her a few years ago.

I am tired of her fickle mindedness!

I am disappointed of my own self to always fall for this!

I know you warned me a couple of weeks ago to draw boundaries, to only meet her if I did not involve myself intimately. I occupied myself with chores and insignificant things to fill in each second of my day so as to not think about her. It worked well until I felt the sound of her little steps as she walked towards me. I could not help but wonder that I am trapped in this game of hers, but what about her S.?

Doesn’t she feel any remorse of just leaving me hurt, desolate and confused? and when she realises that I am recovering or I am moving-on, why does she return?

Does she feel this pain too? Well, why would she?

She is an obdurate damsel, conceiting herself as a memory. Somedays, I think it is my own fetish to let her exploit me while I relish the act and the repetitive thrill of it. It is like sadomasochism of some sorts. She shows up at odd hours without even considering where or whom am with. Helplessly, I just walk away with her. She forces me to give in to her importunities – which according to her is what I request and enjoy too. Does that make me a cannibal who depends upon her?

I could never recollect the entire episodes of our previous encounters but she describes to me with so many vivid details that I am left with no choice but be hypnotised by her to believe every word she utters. I presume that I must enjoy the spellbinding narration of hers.

However, I do faintly recall that when I embrace her,

when my arousal espouses my virility,

when in the most ‘animalistic’ form, I fall in love with her

then, she just disappears with all her belongings.

Thereafter, I am never able to find her and I am left to her mercy of coming back. I often keep recorders, notepads and even cameras to catch even a glimpse of her but all has been in vain so far.

Memory (noun.)

- Something remembered from the past.

- A version of an occurrence which is stored and remembered by the mind

- An attempt made to enslave an envoy of time

- A whore whom I hired for my own masochistic gratification and whom am also in love with

S., she is the most potent form for self-annihilation. She is the poison that keeps me alive but leaves me paralyzed.

Of-course, you have been with her before me so you know this better than I do. She still sees you sometimes, doesn’t she? Does she ever talk about me S.?

Yours

H.

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