Ankit Ranjan

Frames of reference

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Some Unsent Love Letters

I will write you two letters and send you one. The first is what you expect. It starts with a foray into my day-to-day life here, and then covers some half-baked concepts that have been bouncing around my head, and ends with a plea for you to share some of your life with me. The second, this, is honest.

See through my eyes for a minute. Feel the way they open up when you’re in the room.

You give the world color and moments meaning. You’re the brightest person I know. You attract with such soft warmth that outshines the sun back home. The way you are — the way you smile, the way you look, the way you sit with your legs tucked beneath you and your back arced like art — it absorbs me. The way you move makes me wish I could draw. Around you, my chest tightens and I hear each breath as it fills me. I fill with warmth every time I think you care. Every game we play or joke we crack makes...

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I recently had a strange experience for which I am still finding the words. I met a girl online. We quickly arranged to meet after work. She was smart and charming, and we got along well. After dinner, we went on a walk that took us to the door of her house. I kissed her and she asked if I wanted to come inside.

It’s hard for me to explain what happened next. We continued to kiss in her room. I asked whether she wanted me to take off her shirt, and she said yes. I asked again before taking off her bra, and she told me that I didn’t need to keep asking. She took off the rest of her clothes and I took off mine. I felt happy and lucky. But it changed. She got on top of me and began to have sex with me. I wasn’t expecting that and it happened really fast. By the time I grasped what was going on and realized I didn’t want to, it felt wrong to say we should stop. I felt confused and...

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If you hush real quiet and you listen real slow, you’ll find there’s a sense of rhythm to the world. It’s there in the trees, in the ocean, in the sky on your sad October day, and it beats in time with the music of motion. Motion, motion, motion: tick, tock, tick. Have you ever heard that song in the middle of the night, well on your way to sleep amidst the faeries and daemons of your childhood past?

Listen to the silence. Listen, listen, listen. It has lots to tell you and you have lots to hear.

How often do you lie? Every day, every hour, every second? How big do you lie? How far and how wide?

To whom do you lie? (With whom do you lie, alone and well on your way?) About what do you lie?

There is no such thing as nothing. “It’s the silence between the notes that makes the music.”

How often do you try?

Do you try to try? Do you try to try to try? How many tries does it take to tell...

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