Certain words do not need to be said.

For the unsaid speaks louder than the said.

This, is a new chapter of my life. A new one. Filled with hope, joy and love.

For there’s no one else I rather be with, than you.

With love.



Pink Clouds Here

“Words are, in my not-so-humble opinion, our most inexhaustible source of magic. Capable of both inflicting injury, and remedying it.”

– Albus Dumbledore

“We’ve got this gift of love, but love is like a precious plant. You can’t just accept it and leave it in the cupboard or just think it’s going to get on by itself. You’ve got to keep on watering it. You’ve got to really look after it and nurture it. ”

– John Lennon

“my sadness is not

a cut for you to bandage

and it is not

a bruise for you to kiss

i am not waiting

for you to save me

i am hoping you will love me

while i rescue myself”

Posting quotes because.


And no, I don’t miss school. 🙂

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We are have many stories. But all stories are one.

Amy. Or Annie.

We thought that the end is the end. Or the beginning of the end.

Who never thought that each end represents a new beginning?

I thought that this was the end. In the end?

I was rewarded with something else. Precious. Important. Unending.

We all affect one another. In ways we understand, and in ways that we don’t.

And this is ceaseless. Unending.

It is supple like water and limitless like air.


Even lost love is love. Even unrequited love is love. Even love, is love.

Ceaselessly, endlessly.


Truth in lies.

The truth will set you free. But truth is cruel. Compare it with lies, we’re none the wiser.

We seek solace in lies, in fantasy, in delusions and illusions.

I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you the whole truth yet. I’m not sure I can handle the cruelty behind it.

Even if it means deluding myself, the illusions are friendlier. For both you, and me.

But am I not worried? Time is running out. It has always been on our side and against us.

Verily, verily, I am scared.

If this fear is ever irrational, then every fear would be insanity.

I hide my truth in lies, waiting for the day when cruelty is no longer truth without love.

Because only in the midst of passionate embers, would you kindle the flame.

when i was 
into the bottom 
of your eyes
you asked me 
what i was thinking,
and i 
quickly painted you 
a picture-perfect lie
about how 
your eyes 
remind me 
of the colour of bark.
i was wondering
if branches on trees 
ever get tired of reaching.
and if they do.
then so can i.”