isnt it weird and strange dat u write a poem for someone ... and he reads it just like all readers ... though he knows it is written for him... and someone else ... someone may be from ur past ... wants to read it ... he reads it ... and makes it his own ...he enters into ur world ... which you expected from ur own guy.... does it mean he understands u well?loves u more? or you are more imp to him than to ur own guy? ... Life cheats you ... throws u inside the palace of illusions... I am all confused about the thing called love ... watching movies now a days at home .... he said that sorta love only exists in movies ... is it true? wont i get that love ever? well be it as it is... I love myself ... and I think marriage - this business is not for me... not even commitment ... i called myself a free bird... no one can possess me ... not even I ; ) wat i want now is to build up my dreams on the plane of reality ... i will do it ... yeah I can !!! :)
Red-green-yellow. Lights. Lights off. Silence. The night and owl stories. Lust. Loneliness. He called up. Late in the night and remained silent until he could sleep. She listened to his silence and the monster who wanted to drink blood, not rain. He was not in love. He was honest enough to tell her. She was happy to read him, blindly. The script was being written. She read many... many more.... At times, she prayed to be saved. At times, she got tangled. Then he held her hand, showed her love... She searched for keys. Hastily. Gasping. Pressing. Backspace. DEL. Esc.
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