New speaks happy hour Quotes, Status, Photo, Video

Kajalife....

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you are - second needle , I am - minutes needle , if we met , we become an hour... # hour

you are - second needle , I am - minutes needle , if we met , we become an hour... # hour

Tahmoor Nazeer Official

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#speaks

#speaks

veer no.1

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NO ONE IS MORE HATED THEN HE WHO SPEAKS THE TRUTH. SPEAKS

NO ONE IS MORE HATED THEN HE WHO SPEAKS THE TRUTH. SPEAKS

Deepak Singh

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वो तो इतनी मासूम हे यारों के मरे कफ़न को देख के बोली नये कपड़े क्या पहने लिये बोलते ही नहीं! ©Deepak Singh #Golden#Hour

वो तो इतनी मासूम हे यारों के मरे कफ़न को देख के बोली नये कपड़े क्या पहने लिये बोलते ही नहीं! ©Deepak Singh #Golden#Hour

selvam

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Time is what that kills me now☹️ #second=hour

Time is what that kills me now☹️ #second=hour

Dhivyadharshini Gajendran

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It was 5:00 in the evening. The hustles and rackets have almost faded. A muffled noise of people talking outside the ward could still be heard. IV pump alarms, squeaks of stretcher wheels on the floor tiles, somewhere the sirens scream. 5:19. The pulse oximeter glows and I avoid touching that, to not displace the clip. But still, I wish I could hold his hands tighter, but without the continuous morphine infusion needles or catheters, or worse, the bluish tinge of nail beds and the finger tips. By 6:36, his breaths become slower with more long spaced breaths. Death rattles. I withdraw my hand from his' as the chill from his fingers spread all over me. I take out my mobile and play song of the seas with reduced volume to distract myself from the monitor beeping that puts me in fear. The song plays, 'Hush now, mo stóirín, Close your eyes and sleep" 7:49. I feel a slight movement of his fingers. I move closer. I place my hands over his head, still cold. As I place my hand over his chest, it's warmer. The blood gushing to vitals. 8:12. The monitor beeps with long intervals. I open my handbag, find the lighter that I once gifted him. Zippo classic black! Costing his breath with every cigarette that it lit. 8:58. The monitor beeps go irregular. The deserted room gets more dark. Only the deafening beeps. A green line that is seen on the screen grows flat. A long beep fading. Pitch dark! I don't see anything. I grab the lighter, trying to flick. Doesn't work. No flame. Again and again. 6:40. I wake up. The lighter flicks. He stands near the window. Trying to light the cigarette. I quickly rise up and go near him. I snatch his lighter and hug him tight. I stretch my hand out of the window, drop the lighter down the building. "You had nightmares again?", he laughs. "I would get you another gift." I withdraw a bit and look into his eyes. "Where do you get Nicotine gums?"... Zero hour

It was 5:00 in the evening. The hustles and rackets have almost faded. A muffled noise of people talking outside the ward could still be heard. IV pump alarms, squeaks of stretcher wheels on the floor tiles, somewhere the sirens scream. 5:19. The pulse oximeter glows and I avoid touching that, to not displace the clip. But still, I wish I could hold his hands tighter, but without the continuous morphine infusion needles or catheters, or worse, the bluish tinge of nail beds and the finger tips. By 6:36, his breaths become slower with more long spaced breaths. Death rattles. I withdraw my hand from his' as the chill from his fingers spread all over me. I take out my mobile and play song of the seas with reduced volume to distract myself from the monitor beeping that puts me in fear. The song plays, 'Hush now, mo stóirín, Close your eyes and sleep" 7:49. I feel a slight movement of his fingers. I move closer. I place my hands over his head, still cold. As I place my hand over his chest, it's warmer. The blood gushing to vitals. 8:12. The monitor beeps with long intervals. I open my handbag, find the lighter that I once gifted him. Zippo classic black! Costing his breath with every cigarette that it lit. 8:58. The monitor beeps go irregular. The deserted room gets more dark. Only the deafening beeps. A green line that is seen on the screen grows flat. A long beep fading. Pitch dark! I don't see anything. I grab the lighter, trying to flick. Doesn't work. No flame. Again and again. 6:40. I wake up. The lighter flicks. He stands near the window. Trying to light the cigarette. I quickly rise up and go near him. I snatch his lighter and hug him tight. I stretch my hand out of the window, drop the lighter down the building. "You had nightmares again?", he laughs. "I would get you another gift." I withdraw a bit and look into his eyes. "Where do you get Nicotine gums?"... Zero hour