Mosquitoes bite you as if they are in some kind of love with you.

Why we don’t feel sorry for killing thousands of mosquitoes every day?
Are they useless or too many?
We humans must realize it before it is too late.

Hold me like you hold the hand of a little kid who needs you in loneliness, bite my fingers like you bite a giggling kid in front of her friends, and play with me like you play with a kid who only has a few days to live.

I love the words, because they love me too.

The worst kind of oppression is when the victims think and talk in the language of their oppressors.

When you come to love; all calculations seem to be wrong.