Hi Fellow Reader!

There was a time when I could put my questions into words. When I didn't fear if their answers will bring any wrong emotion in my mind. When I would talk hopelessly without worrying about troping others. Back then there was only one meaning of feeling sick and that was actually having a fever. I remember going from innocent to mature.  How both words don't seem to repel each other but are literally antonyms.  I remember telling my friend one of all those hideous stories of mine and having her wonder how I could fake a smile so undramatically. Little did she knew about the sobs stinging my throat to let them free. She couldn't possibly guess the amount of grieve inside that grin. And I would never let my mourns affect any of my other relations. Remembering how loudly I used to cry at nights when I was sure nobody will listen. Now those cryings have sloped down to just thoughts. Incisive yet healing thoughts of mine. Here I sit every night thinking about why's and...

          At Am's when you just completed watching episodes of your favourite soap and you realise you're back into the real world again. Where there is nobody who would hold your arms and give a tight hug ask you to cuddle and close eyes until you start dreaming.          Unwillingly you get up move towards your bed hugging that one pillow that was your only listener when you cried about your heartbreak and the only witness of your blush when it all started initially. You realise that you're lonely outside and inside. You remember that one person who would listen to your whats and hows of the day but that person isn't there anymore in your life.           That person has left.                   And then you take your phone dial his number and erase it. You again give a second thought about calling him but you can't. With a suppressed feeling you lie do...