Poetry

Which part of us do I miss the most? Is it the occasional banter, or the way your lips traced my name, most intricately, most often.

Poetry

It's December and the sudden gush of cold breeze reminds me of you, Again, somehow I am here sitting all by myself, in the bar Staring

Poetry

When the world is not watching, She travels back in time, Unraveling the secrets in the gardens of that uprooted mansion, As the walls bleed stories

Thoughts

Why is it that you are everywhere, but nowhere near me? You leave traces of yourself for everyone to find, but all I get are the

Story

The letters lay open on my table. 8:00 a.m and my phone beeps again, reminding me to close the open chapter of my melancholic