*LOST LOVE*
Tonight I let it bleed,the ink, alongside the heart
Leaving behind traces that could be read
Maybe they too could help unveil the mystery behind us..
And answer questions that forever acts like they bound to tormenting me
You don't understand how much I bow my head in shame every time they ask me "what happened to us".
What happened to our love
The word love that has now turned to be like a language that I failed to understand
Like a monster,dressed in angelic garments but with a mask that doesn't perfectly fit in,
So tell me what to answer whenever those questions shoot through my heart like a double edged sword
Leaving me with tears that never seem to dry
Tell me how I begin to explain to the men that I  shoved down, that I teased  that I had someone.
How do I  explain that am now sinking in loneliness
Tell me what to say to the lots of friends who warned me about this but,heey... this was me a 18 year old girl in love so be Keen enough to keep you locked out of my business...so this was my attitude
Whenever I tried to defend us
So tell me what to answer whenever they want to hear how far we getting with the "wedding plans"
Whenever the love emojis ever captioning your pictures all over my social media accounts get replaced by motivational quotes of holding on.. never let go .. listen to your heart..
Wait, listen to your heart
You don't know how much this song seems to sweep me off having me wishing that I still listened to that soft voice that kept whispering that I still needed you
That I still loved you.
That I still wanted you one more time
But I was Keen enough to discover that am the one who wanted you while you wanted her.. and them
Am the one who loved you while your heart kept beating for someone else..
And it sickens me whenever I kissed you while you wished you were kissing her instead
And I chose to let you go with the hopes that one day I will get over it
That my heart will stop missing a beat every time I hear of your name
That tears won't flood my pillow when our favorite song playes on the radio
That our memories will fade away
With the hopes that time heals maybe that why I chose to fix a bigger wall clock in the living room to speed up the medication
And after the usual deletion of numbers and numerous blocking
I realized I wouldn't block this memories from haunting me
And tears from flowing...
So tell me what to answer whenever they ask me about us!

*MIXED SIGNALS*
I know you want me as much as I want you
I know you are scared I don't feel the same for you
But wish you understand how I have been longing to embrace you and feel you so close to me
But am afraid the emotions I will give may make you understand what I feel
You don't know how much I long to kiss those lips and melt all your worries
Rub my hands between your hair
Seductively
Then down and unbutton your shirt and run my fingers on your chest and lie on your bossom a little longer
Every inch in my being screams your alphabets
How your presence freezes me creating a tension I never understand
With how your voice seems to give me goosebumps
With an entire zoo in my stomach
With how I want to hold you so near and say how much I have wanted you
I know you feel the same too
Or isn't that what you meant by the look at that park
When you wished to tear your heart open that I may read this but you were afraid I wouldn't understand
While I would have,
One time you yelling how much you want me
The next moment you brushing it off with a joke
Nothing can describe the aura that surrounds you
With your down to earth nature
This insecurities cannot give me peace
You seem a way too good for me
A manner that makes me think I don't deserve you
But, wait,what do you mean when you said he was lucky when he had me..
I know you want me too
I know you are afraid I doesn't feel the same
This mixed signals got me nuts

"The man who reads nothing at all is better educated than the man who reads nothing but newspaper" Thomas Jefferson

You will just be praying on your own with strong believe that the prayer will be answered then BOOOOOM one smooth sin you Committed will just flash into your mind and you'll be contemplating whether to continue or to quit the prayer.
😢😢😢
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And she bought the island. It's her island, her house, her farm. Everything belongs to her.''How strange. But why does Mr Ross always look sad? And why does he never leave the island? I asked. 'I don't know,' said my mother. 'He says he likes it here and likes working on his farm. It's strange, I know.' Sometimes, when I finished work, I walked along the beaches or thecliffs. Or I went swimming in the sea. I liked swimming. Greta Ross often came to the beach to swim, but Mr Ross never came.'Stay away from the rocks, Carol,' Greta Ross told me. 'They're very dangerous.'
'1 will,' I said. Sometimes I took my camera to the beach and took photographs of some of the boats that went by. I took photographs of the birds on the cliffs. There were other small islands near our island, and boats with tourists stopped at them. But no boats stopped at our island. They kept away from the dangerous rocks. Tony was right. The island did not have visitors. One day, I was walking back to the house, and had my camera with me. 1 stopped and looked at the big house. Mr Duncan was working in the garden in front of it. At first, he didn't see me. 'I'm going to take a photograph of the house,' I thought. 'The sun isin just the right place, and it will make a good picture.' I looked at the building through my camera, and took the photograph. Mr Ross was coming out of a door. He was in my picture, too, and he looked angry. 'That's all right,' I thought. 'It's still a good photograph.' But Mr Duncan was running across the grass. He came quickly up to me and said, 'Give me your camera.' He looked very worried. 'What's wrong?' I asked in surprise. I gave him the camera. 'Never take photographs of Mr Ross,' he said.
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Give your cell phone some rest....

A Guy gets out of lift on 7th floor instead of 9th floor.

He says- I was so busy checking messages on my whatsapp...without realising, I went into the neighbour's house and sat on their sofa. 

The  lady of the house was glued to the TV... watching serials...She gave me tea without looking at me.

When I started drinking Tea, I looked up and saw the lady's husband entering the house....looking into his mobile. 

He saw me and said, "sorry" and went out of the house !!!

😂😂😂😂😂
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And then he opened the back of my camera and took out the film. 'Hey! What are you doing?' 1 said. 'You'll spoil my film!' But he didn't stop. 'Sorry,' he said, and he put the film into his pocket. 'But no pictures of Mr Ross. He doesn't like people to take pictures of him.' Mr Ross was watching us. He saw the camera and he saw Mr Duncan take out the film, but he said nothing.
Then he turned and went back into the house.
Later, I told my mother about Mr Duncan and the
camera. 'He spoiled my film,' I said. 'I don't understand,' she said. 'Why did he do that?
'I don't know,' I said, 'but there's something strange about Mr Ross.' About a week later, I finished work early one day and came back to the house. My mother was working in her small
room, next to Mr Ross's office. Mrs Duncan was in the kitchen. Greta Ross was painting in her room upstairs. I went to my room and began reading a book. I was sitting beside the window. After half an hour, I got tired of reading. I looked out at the rain, and the grey sea and rocks between the trees. 'My book isn't very interesting,' I thought.
I got up and went out of my room. I walked along the passage and turned a corner. Then I saw the door at the end of the passage. There was a large plant in a plant pot outside the door. 'Where does that door go?' I thought. 'I haven't seen it before.' I remembered the face at the window in my first
week on the island. 'Perhaps it's the door to that room,' I thought. I walked along to the door and turned the handle. The door didn't move. It was locked. 'What are you doing!' said a voice behind me. I turned round quickly and saw Greta Ross. She looked angry.I told my mother about the locked door. 'What's behind it?' I said. 'Is it a secret? 'I don't know,' said my mother. 'It doesn't matter. Mr Ross can have locked rooms if he wants them.' 'I think he does have secrets,' 1 said. 'There's something strange about him. There's something strange about this island. Somebody isn't telling us something. Something important.'
My mother laughed. 'Stop playing detective, Carol,' she said.
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there was a storm in the middle of the
night. I was hot and I couldn't sleep. I got out of bed, went across to the window and looked out at the night. Black clouds hurried across the sky, and the trees moved wildly in the wind. The rain made a loud noise on the window. I opened my window and put my head out into the wind and the rain. I looked at the other windows in the house. Most of them were dark. But one window had a light in it. 'Somebody isn't sleeping,' I thought. 'Which room is that?' There were six windows between my window and the room with the light. 'And there are six doors between my room and the locked door!' I thought. 'That light is in the locked room. Somebody's in there!' I put on my dressing-gown and went out of my room. The house was dark, and at first I couldn't see very well. I walked along the passage and turned the corner. There it was, the locked room. And there was a light under the door! I went nearer and heard noises. 'Somebody's moving about in the locked room,' I thought. 'Who is it? Then the light went off and the door opened. I was afraid to move. Somebody came out of the room, and into the dark passage. Lightning suddenly lit up the house, and I saw who it was. 'It's Mr Ross!' I thought. 'What was he doing in that room in the middle of the night?' I didn't move and he didn't see me. He locked the door of the room carefully. He didn't put the key in his pocket, but hid it in the plant pot next to the door. 'He's coming along here,' I thought. 'I must get back to my room.' And I ran back along the passage. Mr Ross heard me. 'Who's that?' he called. I didn't answer, but ran into my room and closed the
door. He came along the passage and stopped outside my door. Then he walked past and went on down the stairs. I took off my dressing-gown and went back to bed. I was shaking because I was afraid. 'Now 1 know how to get into the locked room,' I thought. 'But what's in there?'
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I went into the room . . . and I was very surprised.
The room was full of strange things. Coloured shirts
and suits. Three guitars. And there were posters and
photographs on the walls. I looked at the posters. Jake Rosso's face looked down at me. I looked at the dead Jake Rosso's picture, and I remembered all the photographs on the walls of my room in Hong Kong. I could never forget that face - the face of my favourite singer.Then, while I looked at his face, something strange happened. I began to see another face in the posters. An older face, and with a moustache, but the same face. 1 saw the face of Mr Ross.
'No!' I said. 'It's not true!'
But it was, I knew it was.
'Mr Ross is . . . Jake Rosso!'
'No!' said a voice behind me.
I turned round and saw Mr Ross. He was standing in
the doorway. He looked . . . afraid.
'I don't believe you!' I said.
'You have to believe me!'
I looked at the posters. 'Who is that, if it's not you?'
'It's Jake Rosso. He was . . . my brother.' 'That's not true!' I shouted. 'I don't believe you. Listen, Jake Rosso was my favourite singer - I had hundreds of photos of him. I still have all his records. I loved him, do you understand? Thousands of people loved him.'
'He's dead,' Mr Ross said quietly.
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'No!' I shouted. 'You're Jake Rosso! You look different

now, yes. You've got short hair, you've got a moustache now, and you wear glasses. But you're. . . Jake. . . Rosso. You were my favourite pop star, so I know.' Mr Ross said nothing, and watched my face.

'He doesn't know what to do,' I thought. 'He knows

I don't believe him, and he's afraid.' Then he said, 'It was you in the passage last night, wasn't it?' 'Yes,' I answered. He looked angry. 'I was wrong to give your mother a job,' he said. 'I thought it was OK because you came from Hong Kong. And I needed help with my work. I needed a good secretary.' 'Does your other secretary know who you are?' I asked. 'Do the other people on the island know?' Mr Ross didn't answer, but walked across to the window. He was thinking. 'What's he going to do?' I thought. Then he turned round. 'OK, you're right. I . . . I am Jake Rosso.'

' I knew it!' He looked worried and unhappy. 'Can you keep a secret? A very important secret?' I thought for a minute, then I said, 'Yes, 1 can keep a secret.'

Then he told me. 'The other people on this island are my family.' 'Your family?' I said. 'Yes. My real name is James Duncan, and Mr and Mrs Duncan are my father and mother. Tony is my younger brother, and his wife, Lisa, is my secretary. It's she who's in hospital.'

'And Dan and Stella Parks? I asked. 'My mother's sister and her husband,' he said. 'But what are you doing here on this island? I don't understand.' 'I'll tell you,' he said. He sat down on a chair and took a guitar in his hands, but he didn't play it. 'You were right. I was a famous pop star. I was very rich, and I had a beautiful wife. But things went wrong.' 'How?' 'I took drugs,' he said. 'I drank a lot of alcohol. I got drunk and crashed cars. I did stupid, terrible things. Iknew it was wrong but I couldn't stop doing it. I was . . . crazy, for a time.'

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