Fate, they say, fate- the clay that molds the events of your life, and it was the same fate that had thrown the stone of her heart on the building of his expectations. But then wasn't it his fault that he had constructed the building of glass? Hadn't he failed to cement the bricks of his love with trust and colour them with security? There was no insurance for broken hearts, no ointment for wounded souls and there would never be one, he knew.

Eye contact is way more intimate than words will ever be.

His mind scolded him for his stupidity and urged him to forget her but his heart had no justifications for its stand. It remained unmoved, its solidarity unaffected, its arrogance still holding.

Who would have listened to his tales of woe when his love was the flickering lamp over his own decaying tomb?

I wonder if I could take back every 'I love you' ever said to you, would I do it?

Today many of these selfish politicians are preying on the nation itself - (belching corruption and farting discontent!)

Love lies in those unsent drafts in your mailbox. Sometimes you wonder whether things would have been different if you'd clicked 'Send'.