Summer Of Love

Dear Delilah

Yesterday, I was toiling around my terrace and listening to the Presley songs you adore so much. I was waiting for you to climb up my terrace stairs and call out my name.

My mother disrupted my dream sequence, and complained that I was moping around as though I had broken up with a lover. I just told her that I have missed you dearly ever since you and your family shifted cities.

But her words bothered me all night.

Lover. We love each other, do we not? We have grown up together, from two girls wearing their polka-dotted skirts to sharing our teenage infatuations with Clint Eastwood and wearing bell-bottomed jeans to parties.

Boys could never satisfy us and we often joked about dating each other. I’m not sure if it was a joke always. Is it possible for two people of the same gender to be together?

It would still be love, wouldn’t it? Isn’t love the essence of every kind of relationship?

You would probably laugh at me. Neither is this an overdose of me missing you nor is this me being sentimental so that you come to visit me. It’s just that I don’t understand these things, these feelings and you know when this happens there’s only one person I turn to. You.

Maybe romanticism arises from platonic relationships, maybe love is all about purity at heart and the utmost adoration you can have for somebody, and if that is so, then who has ever had a better friendship than us?  Then if it is so, love is the blindest emotion possible.

This might help you with your Sociology assignment on the Summer of Love movement or it might blur the lines of some friendships. Don’t mind me and my mindless rants. I’m sure that nothing like this exists and even if there is, it’s too far from being true. Maybe our kids? Or their kids?

I miss you today, tomorrow, and every day.

-A letter I found in my grandmother’s trunk dated from the 60s.

Unstamped.

Written by Siddharth Dwivedi for MTTN

Edited by Anushka Das for MTTN

Featured Image by Studio Beerhorst 

Artwork by Nikita Ermakov