A Romantic Vision

Humid Night-Cruel Confession-Worst Day

I asked him to take me home but he denied.
I slapped him the other day because I was angry and did not want to eat and he would not stop asking me to eat. I don't feel guilty.

A letter came by,
It was from Awan. I did not open, did not read. Instead, I wrote him a letter.

Awan,

You exist and that is how we exist. I hope you did not exist so this faulty relationship also would have not been made.
In anger, in impulse, in truly bad timing, I punished myself with him.

You are heartless Awan,
Nonetheless, you're also hysterical.
I scorn you, awan you are a filthy man with filthy motives. How can you write me letters addressing a betrayal that you did onto my name?
It was you who loved me, it was you who stalked, it was you who proposed me and it was you who doomed me...
You left me for money, I did not leave you for another man.
You love another woman, I do not love him as much as half.
You write me a letter and accuse me when it was you who did all this.
Now so easily you say you love both of us when I see you don't love anybody but yourself,
You are like him. I hate him as well.
I cannot pity you anymore, you are my ruin, the true villain. I hate you, Awan.
I know what would kill you now,
Oh, must I say it to you?
I love you.

Timur's Rail.

the letter must have made him cry. I wanted that.
I am very harsh to Timur, irritable almost all day.
I was so beautiful I recall and now I am nothing but rugged and shun.
They played me while I toyed my heart to them. Timur was on the table studying a book upside down.

"you look atrocious " I speak as I push the book flat on the table.

"Divorce me," I ask him and his face turns white. "isn't that what you want?"

He sighs. "you're sick Rail, rest"

"not as sick as you Timur"

The bell rang, I opened the door, a letter.

I opened the letter.

Dearest Laraib,

You are selfish and incapable of handling the marriage you're in, it does not mean I straddled you to it.
I hate you as well, mostly.
But I also love you.
But Timur doesn't.
And my wife does.
And I too.

Yours and hers Awan.

I shred the letter to pieces, how insolent!
I took a taxi to the old home.
Timurs place or Annes shall I say for nothing belongs to him.

I evoked Anne's spirit, asked to speak to me about his son...but all in vain.  I retired on the bed and fell to sleep.
When I woke up it was half-past Eight.
I saw missed calls from Timur, I texted him I am fine and will return in an hour.

I opened Anne's cupboard and then looked through her colored apparel.
Her scarves. I saw a carton underneath the cardboard box.
I inspected it's rough edges and opened it.

It was filled with Albums Anne and me visited previously.
I pressed my fingers on the portraits.
Everybody is gone. Grandma, Grandpa, Mr. Yilmaz and now Anne.

I saw the garden deserted, no plants, no life.

I miss her rose fragrant room.

Then I opened the cardboard box and there were small drawing books.
I remember them to be Timurs, his exclusive hobby.
They were old and worn.
I saw the little paintings done by little hands.

The drawings weren't like usual six-year-olds, they were quite sophisticated and even to some extent artistic.

Apples, scenery, snow, Christmas.
I remember the Christmas one.