Love is that condition in which the happiness of another person is essential to your own.

Like a compass needle that points north, a man’s accusing finger always finds a woman. Always. You remember that, Mariam.

It was like a great bee come home from some field where the honey is full of poison wildness, of insanity and nightmare, its body crammed with that over-rich nectar and now it was sleeping the evil out of itself.

Will we ever meet again or just be content with the good bye that was never said

Written By Sathyanarayanan K

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