They say that love is complicated but it doesn't have to be. It is making two cups of coffee in the morning instead of one. It is text me when you get home, call me when you need to, listening without saying a word. It is this song reminds me of you and I understand how you feel and with you I become a little bit more real. It is inventing a million reasons just to keep talking even though it's late at night.

Love is effort, it is not ease, but it isn't quite as complicated as they want you to believe.

जब आंसू आते है तो रो जाते है |
जब ख्वाब आते है तो खो जाते है |
बस आप ख्वाबों में आएंगे यही सोचकर हम सो जाते हैं|

If you are trying to forget someone who was once a beautiful part of your life, the answer is - you don't. You don't try to sanitize your experience, you don't try to cut the pain from the bone. You don't downplay it. You don't try to sweep it under the rug or hide it away. Letting go of someone you thought would be in your life forever is difficult, sometimes circumstance gets in the way. Sometimes, no matter how much love is there, you have to lay it down. You have to walk away. You have to accept that sometimes you get too big for it, or you want different things, or you cannot pour yourself out for it any longer. And that is okay. But if you managed to find someone who cared for you, who saw you, who heard all of the horrible and haunted things you did in your life and still loved you harder, still thought it all shone like gold - that is special. You shouldn't forget that. You should be thankful for it. Be thankful that you got to feel that way about someone. Be thankful for all of the mornings, and all of the nights, you got to wrap your limbs within theirs. Be thankful for the way they cracked your heart open. Be thankful for the way they challenged you and calmed you and made you believe in the person you were becoming. Be thankful for the fact that they saw you in ways you didn't see yourself. Be thankful for the fact that you risked for love, that you unhinged your ribcage and opened yourself up in a world that sometimes favors playing it cool over leaping towards connection. Be thankful that you found this person, in a world of billions, and for a moment in time, even if it was fleeting, you got to dive into the soul of them.

"Sitaroon ko aankhon mein mehfuz rakhna, Badi der tak raat hi raat hogi, Musaafir hai hum bhi...Musaafir ho tum bhi... Kisi mod par phir mulaakaat hogi."

Exchanging diaries is a love language; it's like welcoming them into your life with pieces of words. Maybe those words involve you, yes, you. They might not directly remember you, but all the words lead to you. These writings include feelings for you that hurt and emotions that are stuck inside you. Maybe they include thoughts on life in your absence; maybe when I write about you, my mind goes blank. Maybe it's an empty diary that speaks volumes in the absence of words. Maybe exchanging diaries is an excuse for a meeting. Maybe we both know how life is without each other.

Tumhara muje ye batana ki tumhra din kaisa guzra, muje ye batayega ki meri raat kaisi guzregi.

I have so much love for her. and she doesn't want it. and i can't have it because it's not mine, and I can't give it to anyone or anything else because it's not theirs. it's hers, all hers and there's no where else to put it. it's so fucking heavy, and i have nowhere to put it.

Mai usse kaise kehta "mai udaas hu"?
Maine kaha- baate karte rehna.

I have fooled myself.
I needed to.
Because back then, I had to hold onto those dreams to survive.
I had no will to confront the ugliness of my reality.
And I had no will to face the consequences of such committment.
You were my safe home.
And I am the thirsty poetic lover.
But, I knew it was a matter of time."

She isn't the only sunflower in the garden, but she's the one I'd always pick.

Sometimes i regret everything.

They tell me not to have regrets. i don't think it's in our hands. We'll always regret the choices that we did not make. And sometimes the choices that we did make.

I want to cook in the kitchen with you.

I prep the spices, you rinse the veggies.

I dice the garlic, you laugh at how I chop.

I google a baking soda substitute, you stir the soup.

It really is easier with two.

I want to enjoy a meal with you.

I pour your wine, you wish me cheers.

I put more salt, you tell me there's enough already.

I make bad jokes, you somehow still laugh.

It tastes more bitter alone.

I want to clean up with you.

I take the trash, you clear the table.

I wash the dishes, you dry and put them away.

I wipe the counters, you finish your wine.

What will I do with all these leftovers?

Darling, the moon is still the moon in all of it's phases. So do you

From that very first glance, I knew. It wasn't just your beauty that captivated me; it was the soulful symphony that played in your laugh, the poetry written in the lines of your hands, the stories your eyes told without a single word. You were not just someone I had met; you were the missing piece of a puzzle I had been unknowingly assembling all my life.

You're my wind, I'm your dust. Carry me away, for good.