Dear friend of my heart,

You were the dusk when I first saw you; a stranger obscured by my unwillingness to recognize myself. There was much in you that I didn’t know about us. Your eyes shone bright. They were like the moon to me and I a moth to them, drawn feverishly, possessed by the only pleasure I have ever known: The pleasure of getting to know you.

You are still the dusk when I have the eyes to see you but I tell myself that I know you bright and sharp like the sun at noon. I fear not knowing you. I need to know that I do not know you.

I wish you were the dusk when I lay my eyes upon you again, for that would mean that I am no longer living a lie.

oh shaggy thicket, who does deftly hold
yon mysteries of lights and shadows bold
Without a hint of what thou hidest
In the recesses of thy lush green lore

To know you I must forget but I do not want to forget because I want to know you.

If you are listening, I am yours in enchantment.

Eager to hear from you,
Prashant