Your dreams and the time owe each other a terrible inverse proportionality. One will grow, the other will shrink.
Your every effort to help me meet my present, is going in vain.
What’s weird is that you never get out of my head, and what’s more weird is that I’m not sure if I love or hate you. You’re alive in my imagination, only with a hope, that you’ve a real replica of yours…
Maybe I’m panicked after the past darkness, and I’m doing some lunatic deeds, only to avoid it again in my life…
Some of your really great friends are humming the background tunes of your life!
For the one who never came out of the photo frame- my grandmother.
We’re both the pieces of the same sky. We feel the same things.