He too writes,
The most beautiful stories,alone in nights,in the high end city..
When bed is cold,yet heart just burns,when lips are parched yet soul drowns..
He too writes...
Sitting alone,inside that room of his,may be where I have a part written for me,
Papers scatters,sounds of pen and papers talking only echos,and sometimes his deep breaths..
He too writes...
Sometimes his tears too fall,when words become incoherent and only thing he hears is heartbreaking cries,
He picks up words and writes beautiful tales,one after another,trying to forget those cries...
He too writes...
Sometimes wishing to punish himself,yet a silent voice asks,who gave you the right,
And he puts down that wish,yet watches how destroyed that silent voice his,
My Eternity..
He too writes..
Just never says,that he loves me or not..
He too writes ...
