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.


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


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


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


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