💌 Letter 1: The Swing Waits Where You Left It

✍️ By Subhasri Devaraj

Image by Subhasri Devaraj(Author)

Dear Krishna,

It’s quiet today.

Even the river forgot to ripple.
Even the breeze holds its breath — maybe it, too, is waiting for you.

I came to our tree again.
The swing we decorated together still hangs. The flowers — they’ve changed, bloomed, faded, bloomed again. But they remember.
Like me, they never moved on.
They only move with you.

You know what’s strange? I sat down to weep, but I couldn’t.
Not because I’m strong.
But because I’m full.

Full of memories.
Full of your laughter that still echoes in the rustle of leaves.
Full of the way you used to swing like the world was weightless.
Full of the way you once looked at me like I was all of Brindavan in one girl.

I’m not angry you left.
But I wonder — did you forget the way back?

Do the anklets of other cities sound sweeter?
Do their temples echo louder than my silence?

Or do you still, sometimes, hear the swing creak — like a voice calling home?

I don't beg for your return. I never did.
Love like ours… doesn’t beg.
It becomes.

So I became a pause in the wind.
A hush in the Yamuna.
A still swing hanging from a memory.

But even silence needs to speak sometimes.
So here I am, Krishna.
Writing to you, not to bring you back —
…but to remind you where you still live.

Under this tree.
In this swing.
And in me.

Forever waiting,
Radha

🧠 Disclaimer:

✋ No AI Here:
This blog post was written 100% by me, Subhasri Devaraj, without the use of AI writing tools.
Every word is real, personal, and written from scratch — just like a proper conversation over filter coffee. ☕
No bots. No auto-generated fluff. Just me, talking to you

⚠️ No content here is copied or auto-published. I don't post anything I wouldn’t say to a friend.

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