Today I begin to understand what love must be, if it exists. When we are parted, we each feel the lack of the other half of ourselves. We are incomplete like a book in two volumes of which the first has been lost. That is what I imagine love to be: incompleteness in absence.
Mere aane ki aahat pe shama jalai hogi...
kabhi judai ke gum se aakh bhar aai hogi...
fikar na kar mere yaar...
us rabne milne ki koi to sham banai hogi...!
