Chopin said the Spring Waltz was dedicated to Spring, the season of rebirths. Was he truly so naïve?

The blur resembling a warehouse shifted and sharpened until an old barn materialised before Paul Wickens. Summer was waning, so he expected the barn to be full of newly harvested maize. But what was he doing here? How had he even gotten here?

Hasin doesn't like winter. He hates the snow, which is whiter than his pale skin. The snowflakes that plague the streets and the trees and every other place Hasin settles his eyes on are like feathers shed by a disgraced angel from heaven.

Monsoon echoes through the night

A moon over the Bay of Bengal and silver light

“So do you want a boy or a girl?” Cory asked.

The realization settled in her mind slowly, like dust blinking golden in shafts of sunlight streaming in through half-open/half-closed curtains before gently finding their place on wooden table tops and untouched books.

Letting her hair embrace the fickle

Messages scurry in the dead of the night

Everyone remembers who was first. But nobody remembers who came second. They slide into oblivion, like a dewdrop on a petal.

"You've reached the voicemail of Smith Williams. Please leave a message after the beep."

I know, it's personal. I'm crossing the line. But I've had this thing happen to me and it changed my life. I think it changed the way I think too. OK, I'm explaining.

Let the pillars of the earth crumble.

Keeping her thoughts at the

“Let me do your eyebrows.” “Why?” “Cause they are too thin.”

He'd managed to amass quite a collection of pills in his six months of being alive. The man who sold them to him said that two would be enough to knock out a horse.

My warmth wrapped in flesh and blood

His manners were so right and his shirt so crisp. And his chopsticks game was on point. I ate noodles with hands and dipped Kit Kat sticks in tea. I double dared the world. He obeyed wilfully.

When the day gets rough And I risk a wee cuff

He scanned her with X- ray eyes,