Love,
I understand your feelings and the depth of your love for me and I'm in acute pain now while writing this letter to you.
We both are adults enough to understand that we are in a mutually consensual relationship with no social sanction. It's immoral and in many ways illegal. It breaks my heart to tell the obvious. Hence, it will always exist and thrive between us only in our secret privacy with only the phones as its mute witnesses. The space and time available to us is the net after it's taken by our physical, social, and professional sides. We can't change or contest it, we can't encroach on this, and we must respect these Laxman Rekha. After all, we are respectable people.
Overruling the urges of the heart to sustain it is the saddest burden of an adulterous affair.
We must learn to accept it and not disturb the time and space made available to us. Don't you think I crave these moments when you are busy with your family, friends, and professional commitments? Yes. But I am wise, keep it bottled, and never let it overwhelm my logical and practical side.
We will have only a few rare ephemeral moments available to us that allow us to live our secret desires, intertwine and make love till the point of death, meld with each other's bodies and souls and emulsify. We will participate in an alchemy of souls but can not give birth to anything that ever will be termed ours.
You are mine and special. You exist both in my physical and mental world. And it will be so till my death.
When that moment comes, let's dance naked with our eyes closed, our wrinkled bodies plastered against each other's, shorn inhibitions and shame for those fleeting duration in that temporary space, under the bright light of darkness where no one exists other than us.
Don't murder the fruiting of those moments by becoming restless and demanding more, and by raising your expectations and comparing yourself with others.
Unfortunately yours,
Love
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