Monday, 27 October 2014


I've lived my life in phases. To write a book, I'd write one of so many flavors and stories. 

~The night strung together, and the stars, so distant in the skies shiver, blue, twinkling. Slowly, the wind turned in my favour. It turns again, and sings softly in my ears. The magic recreates itself. Tonight, I held her in my arms. Close, not tight. Stroking the shadow of the eyes, not distant. The infinite starlit sky danced overhead in the harmony. 
And the morning came on in its ultimate glory, flawless.

Treading a subdued kiss on life, and it takes the path it was always meant to. My soul is content to have finally lost those whitened nights. Its autumn outside my window now. Unspoken heaven of golden leaves and the smug fog at dusk. 

"Love is brief: forgetting lasts so long.
Since, on these nights, I held her in my arms,
These are the last lines I will write for her.
I don’t love her, that’s certain, but perhaps I love her."

Shifting Aisle.

Someone should write a book where the main character slowly falls in love with the reader.

I'm someone- Wanderlust. 

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