A sojourn it is.
❝His scent is petrichor. He shall always be the golden page of my recollections, of beautiful memories. The greatest archer of the time❞
Derived from the Sanskrit word स्मरण (smaraṇa, "the act of remembrance, remembrance, reminisc...
Epistle /ɪˈpɪs(ə)l/ Old English, via Latin from Greek epistolē, from epistellein. reintroduced in Middle English from Old French. a letter. a literary work in letters or series of letters.
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30, KARTIK, SOLAR INDRAPRASTHA
I am sorry.
My love, Have you ever wondered that I am not real? I am just a fragment of your imagination, your vision? I am a part or a different but same Simran from— kaliyug? Oh, I am a fool.
Arjun, I do not know why am such an eccentric and eldritch woman for the days which have passed but I will be completely honest with you. I, your_ Parthjaya is not cognizant and fails explaining her emotional constructs. Longing, pain and you. You say that my forbearance and strength is competent to your gallantry and valor, for I am beginning to think that it's flurrying, like snow away.
The sweet pang of waiting for you was bearable for I assumed and was firm on believing that may never ever will reciprocate being ardently oblivious and it was my fault for not telling you (perhaps slightly yours to for not even noticing the whites I wore). Then the sweet ephemeral serendipity bestowed me with your love that dusk. The pain of separation was bearable for I was to live my life with those reveries and lit memories I made with you that day. O Arjun, I cannot be more than fortunate to have married my love after many a trials and tribulations. You are mine, my sarang, my latibule, my querencia.
Everything was a paradise.
The curse it shattered me like a piece of glass and I do not understand that why I am not able to muster my courage if I could call it so, or suffice the words to describe my feelings to you in person. Hence, I hope that this letter shall be_ able to do it on my part.
Arjun, the quench of nectar that only your lips can shall be parched now by those deers. The bower of your strong and homely arms are invaded by the swans. The zephyrs of scent are now wafting in the breezes of the lakeside flowers on which those butterflies had danced. I cannot but take my mind and heart out of the— nightmare.
Please forgive me for being the most rude, insolent and irascible wife you have ever had. I APOLOGIZE. If this letter was to be found by you on the bedside table, you were not reading this now at this hour. I need answer and I won't find them here. Therefore, Dwarka is my solace and my Krishna will have a panacea for my torment. Discussing for this seemed a bad idea for you only would have denied it.
Simran is capable to travel by her own. Do not worry yourself for me and have food. I have stored and is carrying lot for me. As soon as I will be satisfied in my soul, my journey will rest. I AM SO SORRY. I will come back in your arms soon.
