Friday, 24 September 2010


What a lovely world it would be, if the heart would gangrene after a stab? To die like a fresh flower plucked, never to live again for another plucking?

What a lovely world it would be.

Saturday, 11 September 2010

A Habit.

Every night he kissed the edge of his pillow and bade her goodnight, in some vain hope that, wherever she was, she would have a kiss if she needed one; one without price or expectation but with love and love alone. And that, by the magic of it, if she were sad before, she would be sad no more.