To The Wonder

I’m not very good at words―let alone the flowery ones. I wrote this letter earlier this morning, when the street was empty and the day seemed cloudy, and I decided to rewrite it in the middle of the night, when I heard nothing but the clock ticking.

Dear The Wonder,
I’m going to refer you this way on this letter since that’s the only word I find fit perfectly to such beautiful name your parents had given. It’s been a while since the last time I woke up in the mornings with one particular name in my mind and hit the hay in the evenings with the very same name―you can guess what happened on the rest of the days. I became so excited, and incredibly happy, and unreasonably afraid and anxious at the same time. It was like symptoms of a disease. And the plague is revisiting.

I never planned to fall in love, but it’s here now. The excitement suddenly fills the rooms. The joyous feeling lurks around every corner. The melancholy is in the air and in the lung. I’m falling sick all over again.

I don’t want to sound creepy but I won’t be lying to you either. I have been developing curiosity and a little bit of obsession about you since the fate brought me to stumble upon you in the vast alternate universe called world wide web. I read your blog and read it again, and again, and again―I spotted some grammatical mistakes but I didn’t give a damn, you sound cute in that way. I tried to figure out your hobbies and interests―and I succeeded to some extent. I guessed where those profile pictures were taken―I suck at this one. Please don’t be freaked out yet, I believe this is common thing many people do when someone takes their liking and the curiosity takes control of them. I didn’t go too far, though. I’d love to see you in person one day, sitting and talking over coffee (or tea, if you mind) while the rain pour down outside, and you’d be telling me more about yourself. Well, that sounds like a great expectation as neither of us know when exactly ‘one day’ will come. Let the fate unwrap what’s next.

Dear The Wonder,
I guess love is indeed a disease. And this time, I don’t mind. Thank you for wasting some of your time to read this utterly composed confession. Thank you for being nice, for those brief conversations, for that smile. And thank you for the sparks and the butterflies. I’m wishing you a great day.

Sincerely yours,

M.

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