We speak so well when we write to each other. It makes me wonder why we bother to talk at all.

How many unwritten letters are you carrying inside you? You have no idea. But they clog up the space for any other words to come out.

'If I were a swan, I'd be gone.
If I were a train, I'd be late.
And if I were a good man, I'd talk with you more often than I do.' #If

I once lived in a very ugly house. I took the best photos of my life there.

Sometimes I don’t call my mother, because I don’t want to hear what she will not say, but I will infer anyway.

Its a good love when it also makes you love yourself a little better.

A pocket of quiet, a spot of sun, the sound of morning. So many broken pieces inside us, roughly arrange themselves to face the day.

Everyone has a back story. It is not necessary to know the story. Just that it is there.

The quieter I stay,
the better I get. At conversations.

Procrastination is a powerful way.
Not everything that demands to be done, deserves to be done.

Everyone thinks that they are passing through hell, when hell is temporarily passing through them.
Keep still. Hell is mist. RT @angadc

Need a nurse/attendant for night duty in Delhi. Elderly, English speaking male patient. Pls suggest agencies, persons. Pls RT.

Childhood is a box of things. Odds and ends, a bit of thread. Coins, buttons, songs, a river. http://twitpic.com/2s9zxd And bus-stops.

Now that she understood things better, she cried a lot less than she used to. Her tear streaked face in the mirror, sometimes she missed it.

Sometimes they ambush me and pin me down till I surrender. On other days, just wave around in the breeze. Floating, flaunting. Thoughts.

"For a man who no longer has a homeland, writing becomes a place to live."
Theodor Adorno

Love stories. They make sense in bits and pieces, sometimes the whole never does. Love is like that.

He missed her.
He made passwords out of her name,
bringing her back to his fingers every time he has to login.

You're sitting on a lot of feelings, she said. It feels like a lot of feelings are sitting on me, I said.

Making money is expensive; it costs too much life.
RT @rdevjani