Here. For you. The red rose.
Not as pretty as you. But it will do. I guess.
To say. I love you.
Here. For you. The red rose.
Not as pretty as you. But it will do. I guess.
To say. I love you.
guitar string broken
that beautiful song lacking
A lost note in love
Tweet tweet my birdie, tweet
Sweet sweet my birdie, sweet
When your heart does beat
For the love you meet
Give her your golden seat
She’ll be at your feet
Tweet tweet my birdie, tweet
Sweet sweet my birdie, sweet
Night night birdie.
Women. They don’t do war. They do love.
And they’re pretty good at it.
That thing you want,
walk towards it, and it will meet you half way.
You know when you read something and you get a lump in your throat or your eyes get teary; well behind that piece is a writer that cried his soul out for you in words.
She didn’t marry her soul mate, but she married the right one.
It was a cold, cold day when she left us, she took all the light with her, she took all the music with her, she took all the laughter with her, and we were left cold on that cold, cold day she left us.
It was a cold, cold day when she left us, we had to save our drowned hearts, we had to swim against the pressing waters, we had to pull our drenched bodies out, and we remained gasping for breath on that cold, cold day she left us.
It was a cold, cold day when she left us, we looked for her in our hearts, we looked for her in our dreams, we looked for her in our souls. And we found her there, and there, and there.
And that is where she now lives – in us, always, forever.
When the spiced kulfi of India, becomes the fragrant bastani of Persia, becomes the aromatic bouza of Levant, becomes the fruity gelato of Italy, becomes the tangy sorbet of France, becomes the creamy ice cream of England.
Become one big bowl of frozen desserts with different flavors, colors, aromas and textures.
Just like us people.