When the heart grows heavy

Listen, Anirudh; this may be pointless, but I'll say it anyway.

If you ever feel terrible, if you can't find anyone to talk to, just reach out to me. Even if I can't offer you solutions, I'll at least listen. I want to be the person who listens to you in silence.

In the few days I was close to you, I saw your loneliness. How utterly alone you are inside—I saw that too. You never tell anyone anything, never let on, just keep it all buried. But you couldn't fool my eyes. I saw so much more—things that aren't really visible, that go unnoticed unless you pay close attention. How do you manage to live so alone?

Anyway, I know I have no right to say all this, to ask these questions. I won't come to you with any claims or demands ever again. Only I know just how cruel you can be! I don't come running to you at any random moment these days. I want to run to you desperately, but I don't. There's a reason behind this restraint, this way I strangle my own voice and hold myself back.

Listen to one thing I have to say. When you feel really low, reach out to me—we'll cry together. I'll never complain about anything else again. Perhaps you don't have anyone you can truly call your own, and neither do I.

When I'm upset, I do all sorts of scattered things, but I don't come to you to heal my heart. At this late age, I've learned that you have to know how to mend your own heart. Give it to someone else and not only will they not heal it—they'll coat it with even more pain.

If I live long enough, someday I too will learn to dismiss love the way you do. It will take me time, but I'll learn. I'll learn how to drive a knife into love's heart, how to crush it underfoot.

I will manage it. You just watch.