Writu,is it too late?

I've had enough of men.Let me tell you a story about a girl tonight.
First things first.
i)We were never even remotely close.
ii)I almost don't know her.
So,whatever I'm about to say is my interpretation.She might as well be very different from my version.So,read at your own risk.
                    Like all my favorite fairy tales,it starts with 'once upon a time'.The only difference is that I can't offer any insight into my protagonist's love life.If she wants to reveal more about herself,she is more than welcome to do a guest post over here.
                                     Once upon a time,there was a girl-sipping Pran juice,roaming around in converse shoes and iron straight hair,taking everything in with her surprisingly innocent eyes but maintaining the sarcastic half-smile all right.We belonged to enemy camps-she had one of those infamous senior-junior brawls with one of my so-called best friends and since then,whenever I walked in around her(or her friends),I never missed that subtle(or not-so-subtle)hint of arrogance.'Okay,she's pretty(and well-dressed) but just because I'm friends with one of the girls she doesn't like,she shouldn't behave like this!After all,she hardly knows me.',I used to think.

                  We comfortably hated each other till my friend found her profile on a social networking site and asked me to check it(she was allergic to reading even a single line if it didn't promise her marks in return).That's when I realized being friends with my friend has been a mistake.I wasn't supposed to be a friend of this good-for-nothing,shallow,dumb beyond any recovery girl with fake eyelashes.It's this enemy I was always meant to be with.We had so many similar interests-we both LOVED reading,we both couldn't stop talking about Sigmund Freud and Simone de Beauvoir.We both grew up on a steady diet of Jane Austen and Agatha Christie but Aatish Taseer,Pablo Neruda and Che Guevara seduced us into having passionate,unprotected sex with them later on.So,you see,we won't be your 'quintessential good girls'. We won't be your panjabi-clad,hairy 'aatel' from J.U. with jhola and thick-rimmed glasses either because we never denied the pretty dominating presence of Prada,Gucci and Vogue in our life.We just never understood why serious readers had to have body odor.

                                                                Being the loyal friend I'm,I didn't tell my friend any of these.I remained loyal to her and our friendship till it ran its natural course.Then I sent this enemy a message.It read,'I'm sorry for always judging you without hearing your side of the story...'.I never got a reply.So,I thought she wasn't interested.I accepted the fact that our love story just wasn't meant to be.Then,one fine morning,I don't know how(and she doesn't either),she found my blog and posted a comment over here.Not a random comment saying 'Loved your shoes' or 'you look so pretty' or something similar;a heartfelt,genuine comment.'Maybe it WAS meant to be',I thought and wasted no time to try to make things right.We've been in touch since then,touch wood.

                                           Who is Writu Ghosh? I suppose you could call her a prettier,slimmer,better-dressed version of yours truly with a better vocabulary.But that'd be less than insufficient.Who's she then?A poet,musician,blogger(Resurrectional Apolytikia),fashion freak?No,she's much more than just that.She's everything I've always wanted to be,she's everything I'd never be,she's everything I can never have enough of.She's a dreamer,she's a charmer,she's a sinner.She's dark,she's cold,she's mysterious.She's death,she's pain,she's silence.She's everything she doesn't look like.
                                                                                                                              A conversation(the good ol' offline ones)with her is pending for a long time but I've it played out in my head so many times that I'm almost scared to make it happen.It's grossly over hyped,what if one of us doesn't live up to the grandeur of the dream sequence?What if I get tongue-tied?What if we come to a point where I don't know what to say?As they say,living the dream is ruining the dream.
                                                                             Or maybe we'll do it one day.Maybe we'll take a bus and when it slows down near Maidan,we'll get down and get lost in the heart of our city-quoting Shakespeare,dead drunk,laughing at our 'aatel' selves...'Your shoes look ghastly',she'd say,'so does your hair.They're so bloody straight! I preferred your hair with its natural bounce',I'd say.'You sound like a pot-bellied middle-aged husband',she'd say.'Fuck you!',I'd start to lose my patience now.She'd give me one of those you-sound-like-a-baby-when-you-abuse shrugs of hers and start reciting in a dreamy voice,
"Oh, lonely, drenched evening kites,
Forgotten, tangled and estranged slights…
Home of joys, now homeless by night,
Who will miss them tomorrow?
Sighs. Their quavering, articulate sighs.
That held them afloat all this time.
Sighs. Alone."
It'd be enough to make me cry.Not the passionate,loud cries I give in to after every break up but the silent,content sobs.She'd come close,wipe the diamonds away,look into my eyes(in the most non-lesbian way possible) and say,'I get you'.
                                        Or maybe we'd do none of these.Maybe we'd go to Outram ghat,look at the water(therefore never looking into each others' eyes)and read all those silent words we were supposed to say to each other,for these three years.We won't need to explain.We won't need to elaborate.She'd just 'get me'.

   Writu,is it too late?