“How do you feel now after making futile promises?”

Lips getting dried, heart pumping faster, sweat seeping through the pores, cheeks turning red. Dear summer, stop acting like my lover.

You don’t miss me the way I’m supposed to be.

Art is what keeps humans, human.

The more I wanted to scream my pain out, the better listener I became. Thinking how badly others would have wanted it too.

If you’re with me, I’Il get used to it. If you’ll leave me I’ll get used to it. Choose wisely!

You could have my soul and the body. Fool that you were; tried force on flesh instead. And lost the one who would have wrapped you up in her prayers.

A broken heart is usually mended in isolation.

Mash up tells me how difficult it is to stay loyal to one song.

Fluttered open the wings and flew off from my clenched hands; those butterflies always found a way to slip by just like time.

You know what love is? When even the wait is fun.

Its painful to see when your own people doesn’t support your artistic calibre. The very quality strangers call you extraordinary for.

My anxious self always melted in your arms, then. Now your grin from another screen telling me “its going to be okay” works just the same.

I expressed because you gave me enough freedom be myself around you, and thus, you deserve the same. You deserve to be heard too and not be counseled to at your attempt.

I love the woman I have become today. The one who breathes fire and douse it all at the same time.

All I knew that going forward and receding; both were important aspects to move ahead in life. So, few setbacks straightened out my path all the more.

I scroll through the feeds mindlessly thinking about you and that if ever I crossed your mind today.

Faith is not primarily a function of how you feel.

You know, sometimes I feel like I walk around with a target on my back with the films I make.

If you ever start to feel good about yourself… …. they have this thing called the internet.

I am incapable of telling you not to feel. Feel, feel, I say – feel for all you’re worth, and even if it half kills you, for that is the only way to live.

You can feel when something’s authentic, and you can feel when it’s not: you know when someone’s trying to make the club record, or trying to make the girl record, or trying to make the thug record. It’s none of that. It’s just my emotions.

We want people to feel with us more than to act for us.

We have to be careful not to elevate our preferences to moral standards and judge others by them. We only do so to feel superior.

The age seems sore from excess of stimulation, just as a day or two after a thorough Debauch and long sustained Drinking-match a man feels all over like a Bruise.