“Memories are homes that I visit, to write the ending of an incomplete story. As it forever stays constant, when people leave.”

Every cloud has a silver lining. But an irony resides, as the cloud grows & cries. Turns white into grey and let’s go off the things, It can’t hold for life.

Sometimes your heart was meant to break, so these broken pieces of yours can bloom in a garden of self-love.

Work on yourself only when you want to, & not when you are expected to change, to fit in a unit society.

You don’t miss them, you miss the version of them, scripted in your mind. Maybe it’s time for you, to change the actor of your story.

City light appears as stars on the ground, but creates an illusion, of an ideal city that never existed, hides the dark & dusty secrets.

Eases our darkness into daylight. Oceans apart, but what remains the same, is our eyes gazing at the same moon.

They may seem like the perfect fit, for your incomplete puzzle. But they’re not the right piece.

Together now, new reside in the album of our gallery. People on this camera roll never came under the same roof again.

You’re like the number zero, you accept the position where the world puts you at. But, that same zero holds ten times more value, when placed at the right position.

I’m off to find what I’ve lost, in the darkness of love with a lantern in my hand. Just one more piece & my heart shall be fixed.

Hidden in the ashes, of a fallen building lays a child’s family photo, with whom he could never unite in life.

Maybe one day, I will reach the shore just in time before I let people’s opinions drown me in the ocean of my mind.

They may seem like the perfect fit, for your incomplete puzzle. But they’re not the right piece.

You need to be broken, to let the rays of hope in. Every broken piece can be fixed, it’s the glue that has to settle in, let time do its magic.

As a child, I loved playing hide & seek, but now it seems like I’ve been lost for a long, & no one is looking for me.

Forgetting is power, & not a weakness. For if we could never forget how would our wounds ever heal.

These silent Conversations that I have with myself might just end up killing me in the end.

When diplomacy ends, War begins.

Reading is not an end to itself, but a means to an end.

If I didn’t have the ends, I wouldn’t have so many imaginary friends.

In the end love means deceive.

Healing is a messy process. But it always has a beautiful ending.

There was no way to save her. Believe me i wanted to. But how could I, when I could barely save myself.

It makes life so much easier when you can just say ‘I’m human’ at the end of the day.”