Her Red Lips

Lust or Love?


Let our stories remain in a place where Time cannot touch us anymore. Let our stories remain in crossroads.

The Girl You Knew

Sometimes, her memories visit me on lonesome Sundays, when the city around me dims down in silent melancholy and the clouds assemble to paint the sky in white and blue in the sunless wintry afternoons.

A Beautiful Lie

Is it not strange how life is garnished by moments and stringed together by memories?Here is to the souls that have touched ours from afar and now, only reside in our memories.

We Were Dreamers

I never found rhyme or reason in us. Perhaps that was why we were dreamers.