A place where silence is understood,
Joy is shared,
Love is endless,
And you're never a burden—
Only someone to be cherished.
That’s the family we all dream of.
Not everyone gets it,
but everyone dreams of it—
a family that understands your silence,
spreads joy without reason,
loves you beyond measure,
and never lets you feel like a burden.
An ideal family is not just a blessing…
it's a rare kind of magic.

Getting a loving family,
Who understand your troubles without telling…
Who make efforts to spread happiness…
Who loves you more than you do…
Who feels you as their responsibility but not a burden…

An ideal family : Dream of every human being!!

The sweetest torment of your lips, I seek,
A kiss that makes my very spirit weak.
Each gentle press, a fire that doth ignite,
A yearning flame that burns through endless night.

Your lips, like velvet, soft and full of grace,
Do haunt my dreams, do stir my heart’s embrace.
In every touch, a world of bliss I find,
A longing deep, a passion yet unlined.

O’ let your kiss be mine, and ne’er depart,
For in thy arms, I find my truest heart.
The world may fall, but you, my sole desire,
Shall be my bliss, my passion, and my fire.

The sweetest torment, bound by love’s design,
Your lips, my dearest, shall forever be mine.

Turn thy tender eyes to me,
And let them glow so soft and free.
Like honeyed warmth on summer’s breeze,
They set my heart at perfect ease.

Gaze upon those lips, so sweet,
Where every smile is pure and neat.
Like petals kissed by dawn’s first light,
They make the world feel soft and bright.

O’ how the stars above would weep,
To see thy beauty, calm and deep.
Thy presence, like a velvet glow,
A secret love the world should know.

In thee, all sweetness finds its voice,
A melody that makes the heart rejoice.
Turn now, sweet soul, and let me see,
The love you hold so tenderly.

We are at a café we often visit, sitting across from each other, the same way we always do. She loves their cinnamon biscuits, the kind that crumbles at the touch but melts in your mouth with warmth. She always saves the last one for later, wrapping it in a tissue and slipping it into her bag.

Today, she does the same. But as she reaches for her bag, it tips slightly, and the biscuit drops. A tiny crack runs through it. She sighs, about to leave it, but I pick it up, carefully brushing off invisible crumbs, and hand it back.

"Still good," I say.

She looks at me, amused, and shakes her head before tucking it away again.

I don’t know why I remember that moment so much. Maybe because it was just like us—delicate but still holding together.

Months later, I’m searching for something in the backseat of my car when I find it. A tiny, forgotten bundle of tissue paper tucked between the seats. The biscuit. The one she saved that day.

She isn’t here anymore. Not in this car, not in my life. But the biscuit is. A fragile piece of something that once was.

I hold it in my palm for a moment, then unwrap it gently. It's crumbled now, beyond saving. But I don’t throw it away. Not yet. Instead, I close my fist around it, just for a second, before letting it slip between my fingers.

Some things aren’t meant to last forever. But that doesn’t mean they weren’t once whole.