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Langue
Crimson, delicate paper written with pink ink, forever meant to be remembered, yet too faint to shine. Her lover breathed a gentle breeze, and she melted with every passing moment. Her beauty remained imprinted in those twinkling eyes, but bittersweet, she was ephemeral never meant to live forever in this life. Her blu
I did not mean to burn the rice tonight.
The sea is calm tonight.
She walks in beauty, like the night
Ye tradefull Merchants that with weary toyle,
Read in the name of thy Lord who created
سنا ہے لوگ اُسے آنکھ بھر کے دیکھتے ہیں
The Butterfly refuse to fly -
Break, break, break,
You got your H.P. Lovecraft
Meeting at Night