spoken words are not enough, perhaps why we put them in a book. love is a giant turd ―words are chaos, it is the sea upside down, and a delusion of galaxy on the floor. this is your saliva, it remains in your mouth and when in need, you may rub it on a bleeding wound. it is the sensation of the creator, you on your knees with your emotions in a cup of tea. wearing your heart with pride on your sleeve. there is no two ways to put it ― i am giving you the permission to fall apart. i am telling you that when you walk miles with the fog of failure or the suffering of success on your shoulders, you humanise in ways you cannot decipher. how can we even tell, where one begins and the other ends? if we look too deep for what it means, we might forget what we came for. a cup of life for two celebrates the survival of words. there is nobody i will never not write for.

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