Delayed, unexpressed appreciation is meaningless. The dead need no appreciation. The living do.
You know you have arrived when you have stopped caring about the destination
The stories we pretend do not exist, are the stories that will haunt us till the end.
May every man find the softest and most fragile expression of his personality with the right woman who would treasure and honour the beauty of his femininity and not misuse it and may all women find empowering and supportive men who would exult in he...
You are truly home only when you find your tribe
There should be a measure for happiness or sadness, like the width of your smile, the twinkle in your eyes, the depth of your laughter or the salt of your tears.
She did not care what a ludicrous picture she might be painting, a fat happy old lady in her night gown, swinging on a small little swing in the dead of the night.
Of all the deep longings, this ache for missing intimacy, cuts through sharply, like a scream in a silent room, like the last gasping breath under a stifling mask, like the huge lump in the throat that one is unable to swallow. This deep ache to be h...
They prised open the door in the morning. The beatific expression on his face was exactly what one would find in a temple deity or the just dead - an unsmiling smile. The absurdity and humour was there if one could just see it, the question and answe...
Most of the conversations we are ever likely to have with people are the things we do not and cannot say
It is finally about the quality of the conversations and silences we share, isn't it? We become strangers when we have nothing to say to each other. We die to each other, when the conversations in us die. Sometimes, a little every day, until one day ...
