Flipping through the pages of my diary

You know, meeting him felt like I was buying a home. And a property dealer came into my life, and he told me that the home he was going to show me was very beautiful. It had big windows, it had a beautiful porch, it had a beautiful room, and there were three to four rooms. You know, it was very spacious — but not so spacious that you’d feel lost inside. It was cozy in a way that you’d find belonging there, you’d find love there, you’d feel like returning back there. It was warm, it was kind, it was a compassionate place where you could be you, where you would love. And every time he talked about that house, he showed me some pictures of it, and I was like, “Oh my god, oh my god, yes, I like it, I like it, I like it.” He kept talking about that house. He sent me one or two pictures, but for 11 days he told me about that house — more about that house. The paint, the color, the texture, the walls, the roof, the garden, the doors, the windows, the bed, the wardrobe — everything. The kitche...

Just write, write, and write, but don't say it out to the world. It will spread like fire. I miss someone, but I will never confess it again. Life will go on, they say, whether you love or miss someone. I will believe it with the whole of my heart. Life goes on because hope makes us believe it. You will always notice—at least in my life—I have always written for you at nights. Wonder why you knock on my door only then? You come for me when the world goes to sleep, when the moon comes out, when tides go up. You are also in love—at least that's what my heart said secretly to my mind before choosing to love you more. Life is nothing more than you, me, and ghazals at night on my retro radio. I think we should remember: love is not about conquering, but it is about remembering. And I shall forever remember you, even if I, by fault, fall again for someone new. You taught my soul to love myself more. You taught me solitude—it’s all love can truly embrace, or people call it lonely. I a...