In the era of kisses and sex,
Holding hands is still the kind of intimacy I long for...

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Have you ever been in the middle of replying someone and suddenly you just stop and keep your phone aside because you need to cry and you are so on the verge of breaking down but then you just get back to texting like nothing happened...??

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Had a million things to say, yet kept it all to herself.
The backspace at the corner of the keyboard maintained its legacy...

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And then you just remove your earphones and try to sleep
But closing your eyes makes you dive deeper into those dark thoughts
So you just stare at the ceiling with your hands on your chest
In an attempt of lessening the heaviness in your heart that seems to increase with each passing moment

And suddenly you find your inner self asking you :

Is the darkness really so dark or is it just that you have started finding comfort in this zone..??

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I called you 'home' as well as my 'escape' ,
Forgetting that it was home that I wanted to escape from...

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And how many times did you sleep at night hoping that everything would be fine again the next day when you wake up...?

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How weird it is that everyone around you is praying for sunshine and you are there sitting by the window and praying for unending hours of rain.

How beautiful yet insane it is that everyone just wants the cyclone to pass away without causing any harm, but you know that it's the only thing that can calm down the cyclone that arises within you each day ...

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Have you ever been in one of those moods when you have so many things to say but then you don't know what to say ?

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"Why don't you share your problems with anyone?", Someone asked.

"Because people don't listen to just listen, they listen only to reply...", I said.

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Each time I pass by this place
I remember your smile,
And my heart beating fast
as you rested your palm on mine.
Looking up at the dusk
The burning end of your cigarette
Making swirls of smoke in the air;
With my eyes rested so softly on you.
It was us against the world
And it will always be.

I have often heard how this place and the waters here hold more stories than the libraries;
I whispered to them, "Hold ours too!"

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