And I was left alone.
So I didn't care,
To make them like me
However this might not;
Change everything
With time,
Because it heals everything.
(Now read it backwards)

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Small Things.

What exactly matters in life is not how we celebrate big things but how we cherish the smaller ones. When we run after the bigger things we realise how much small moments we have left behind which could have been enjoyed. This small things are the signs to show people as well, how much you care for them. People will be always there to congratulate them on their big moments but in the end what really matters is how many remembered that small things about you and made you feel happy and cared about. Because sometimes the smaller joys make us live in the present and not make us chase what we call an unwanted materialistic desire we have. Talk to loved ones and make them feel cared about by remembering their small things.:)

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We both long for the night sky but

from different time zones.

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Sometimes what hurts you is not the little thing a person did, but when that thing holds the potential to show the extent of pain the person is ready to give you.

-

External force to an object in motion or rest in law of inertia.

-

The worst thing about success is,it doesn't come easily.

The best thing about success is, it doesn't come easily.

-

Today I see a list.
In my diary old,
With a veil of dust
Covering it, unmaintained
Random numerical, and flowers.
I set out on a voyage of old,
Memories, not so old.
I see a list of important lives,
In my life, in the pages that uncover.
As, I see those forty names
I ask my unconscious brain.
What made you think them
Important, not so long ago.
Some not even in this mortal world.
Is this a trick you play?
It said"Might be one of your fictional character that dwell."

-

-

Void.

I feel a lump building up,
Inside my throat.
Made of nothing but an emotion.
An emotion that can't be spelled.
Maybe I am filled with void
But if it fills then is it really void?
Everything is occupying space.
So, does that lump
Filling, blocking, increasing.
Yet can't find its existence.
It might be called abstract.
Which doesn't exist but felt,
Lump being so consistent
That it continues to grow.

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What if there is nothing as can or can't?
As it always depend on the perspective.
What if it was a bad poem?
Because you can't find the good in it?
Or because you can find the bad here.

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