In a corner you condense yourself and cry- in the same corner you caress and kiss. Life is this, something different each time.

There is now a distance,
pressing quite persistent,
May be only inches apart,
but as if an artery is blocked.

There now seem some secrets,
a word which was earlier so needless.
May be they now laugh so less,
and even in summers,
the air between them feels dense.

Who connects? Who neglects?
Barely matters when you are no more friends.

I'll keep looking- till that watery reflection of mine in your eye, rolls down as a tear. I'll keep looking till we finally look away like our lives never met. Let's cheat destiny as if we never knew each other. Let's do this last thing together.

Failure should be archived in head, not heart.

The sand in the hour glass isn't meant to stick together. It will flow exactly same today, how it did ten years back. That's how much reliable that stuff is. The stuff that can be consistent.

Perfectionists talk about first love. Realists talk about true love. Optimists talk just about love.