Little did they know her eyes were fixed on the forbidden route; on a small patch of land which was white and glistening against all the black around, where moonbeam danced with the rustling of leaves, where a part of her will was already resting, calling her to name that virgin land with her definition of destiny.

A person can die between the pages of a notebook and still keep breathing. This death is mercy. The existence is fired up. Smokes do not carry the traces of burnt words. The last moments are breathed out in a hiss as fire slowly devours the ink. There must have…

Somewhere out there, a couple is kissing for the first time while they slide wedding rings into their entwined fingers; where love is making itself known with warmth and sadness alike; where knowledge flies out of dry books and finds its way into the ways of men; where they believe that Utopia is possible.

Originally posted on Blogger on Nov 22, 2015