Masterpiece

Asked which of his works would he select as his masterpiece, architect Frank Llyod Wright at the age of 83 replied "My Next One"

He wrote, and rewrote pages after pages, but like all those before them they landed only in the dustbin. Some that missed the bin, decorated the floor. But none really hit the nail anyway.
"Wish I was a writer, at least then words would have flown easily".

Writing his first love letter had been easier than this. And so many subsequent ones after that.

But writing to her was so tough.
She was the his favourite gal, even above his wife. And she had specifically asked him to write to her. He had tried expaling it to her, that it was but a short business trip and that he would be back even before the letter reach her, yet she had insisted. Oh, she was so stubborn but he loved her strong head. She made him work hard, and he was glad to have her in his life.

"Anything for you sweetie" and he promised to write a real letter.

They talked everyday, and everyday she reminded him that she was still waiting for "the letter". He would promise of writing one over and over again, and yet, nothing really came out.

He wanted to pour out his heart to her, talk to her about his life, his failures, his hopes, his dreams.... coz she would listen, she wouldn't judge, she would love him and love him dear, inspite of all his incompitencies and inconsistencies.

His flight home was due in a week, now he had to write and post a letter soon....

Where to begin...what to write to her...how does one write a letter...to his seven years old daughter?



Yet another hit the bin....