torn pages and dry ink.

Fragments #2

What do blank white papers mean to a girl in a dream who walks down rows of bookshelves, feeling the spine of every volume, examining the obscure copy tucked away in a corner and who looks up suddenly to watch the overpowering beauty of the silver moon in a wet monsoon sky?

What does a dried up pen mean to a silent poet who follows beauty and passion and love in their vague, forbidden paths with a toolkit of words and who occasionally looks up to share a piece of the silverware surrounded by weak, twinkling stars?

Do they care for a meaning at all? 

Meant to be

Fragments #1

You say this was never meant to be? You say we were never meant to be? Then.. then just tell me what is meant to be? 

Nothing. Nothing at all, she said faintly. I think, she added as an after thought. So soft, that those words could as well have never been spoken.