Who would have listened to his tales of woe when his love was the flickering lamp over his own decaying tomb?

Isolation, for him, had become a basic sine qua non for existence and loneliness, his sole companion like a perfectly faithful twin. He was someone for whom even happiness would cry for, mourning the death of his sentiments and murdering the existence of his soul.

If not towards his case to give him glimpses of what could be a happy future, it stayed back at least to warrant her happiness, stayed back with the pain that strangely didn’t hurt anymore.

He did not have anything on him except her thoughts, except the good times he had once shared and the bad times he so desperately wanted to forget.

That’s what I’m trying, sir… getting my life.

I wonder if I could take back every 'I love you' ever said to you, would I do it?

The pain would not leave him. It came to him like the tide that hits the sea.