“I’m just a typewriter of the small universe of you and me I write memories into words and it becomes poetry.”

The moon is not bound to make any sense to me yet always it reminds me of you. -Choosing you.

Don’t you see how the stars watch me love you and blushes in twinkles? – The Universe is with Us.

I have heard a lot about love but I’m still learning to spell it, a bit by bit every day by getting, to know you better. -The Loving.

Maybe I met you not for being together always but to know that there is someone like you in this world. -Grateful.

I was lost in those sunsets in your eyes and when I was finally found, I was sunshine myself. -The person you made me.

Would you still mind if I loved you a little longer? After all, I learned it from the moon to be still there in the sky even if the nights are over. -Moonchild.

They call me a poet, but I’m just a victim of the memories we share and a great observer of the universe of us.

We tried to rhyme you and me parallels as in sky and sea timeless we were but lifetime apart but you’re still right here within my heart.

The night is over me and I am breaking again into memories of us.

I understand why did you say that I’ve got you because even where you’re not here, you crawl to me like a memory. – A memory.

Sometimes, “I love you’s” are just hard words ’cause they make me regret that I’m not at that moment beside you. – Distances.

Do you see how the sky holds the stars so softly so that they twinkle till eternity? Sky,”I’ll never let you go”

Feeling understood by one particular person is like holding a universe that solely belongs to you.

Perfect was sick of being called an “illusion” so it refined itself to “Loving You”. -Glories with you.

My days are a series of “I wish you were here” moments – All my roads lead to you.

A million ways I have pondered upon what your eyes convey -but this time, I wouldn’t. -There is beauty in stillness.

The difference between false memories and true ones is the same as for jewels: it is always the false ones that look the most real, the most brilliant.

It was a grey day, that made me think like I was in a dream.

We know how tough it is to find purpose in the memory of the loved one you lost. It will take time – but you will find it, and we will find our purpose as a nation.

There is no pain so great as the memory of joy in present grief.

One day you will look at those photos with much kinder eyes and say, ‘Dear God, I was a beautiful thing!

I am an omnivorous reader with a strangely retentive memory for trifles.

The pleasure of remembering had been taken from me, because there was no longer anyone to remember with.

The town was paper, but the memories were not.