I don't know: if heaven has an ocean.; or if hell is an inferno of flames.All I know: my blood starts to glow every time your lips say my name.

I am a calm stream, and you are the rushing sea that I merge into.

things will happen as they should.what is meant to be will always be good.

Our hearts are restless. We have both been parched for years, and I am your first sip.

what are the titles of the books on your shelf? what do you think are your greatest flaws?what do you do on the days you hate yourself? or do you never feel that way at all?if I fell for you: would you fall with me too?

I think, home is a feeling. I think it is the overwhelming reminiscence: looking out of an airplane window as you descend onto land you have lived and loved on before.

And we don't point our fingers at the leaves; we don't curse at the sky. We do not ask them why they are as they are. We do not sit them down on dirty chairs in detention rooms in crowded airports and make them feel inferior; no. We tell our children:Climb trees.Reach for the sky.We accept strong wind and summer breeze; why do we discriminate against our own species?

Growing up; the world was a tablecloth upon which countries were set like placemats; and I played Musical Chairs around the dinner table.

Now I have been a resident of a small English city for four years and here even the strangers are familiar. I am settled and it is unsettling.