“Why do you write?” Somebody asked her.
“I do write because I cannot just speak, and believe this is the more expressive way to pour out what haunts me.”
“Oh I…” She murmured.
“These are not only words, these are the feelings wrapped into the letters, these are the longings that supplicate to be taken care and these are the traces for him to come and follow me. And I know – One day he would be able to reach it, one day he would get to know, how often & intensely I used to miss him. I write because I want him to feel all I feel, to hear what I never say and to go through all I have in my mind, continuously repeated.”
“I want him to have this all, at least once.”