lost children, you and I cobblestones under our feet echoing the tap-tap-tap of raindrops i, bruised and laughing you, still on the floor. A kind of folie á deux the kind that shapes who you become Three years later we were both drafted for a war that wasn't ours or theirs it wasn't a war at all but madness madness, again, ruining us With flags tied to our wrists, we wrecked havoc on the dandelions that were meant to grant us wishes And now, with moonlight in our hair with blood on our hands, and flags torn to pieces Let us rest a while, here where the tall grass tickles our feet. We have done enough for today. (insp: "i think we deserve / a soft epilogue, my love" - @cardiamachina)
It was a fine sunny day and no one was listening to her. She wept and pleaded and begged, but they refused to spare her a glance. She wept more in anger at their ignorance, at how they chose to walk to their demise so eagerly. And for hours she wept as they left her there at the threshold, on her knees with bloodied fists clenched tight. Teeth clenched tighter. Eyes shut, breath heaving. Hours. Days. Weeks. She wept blood as they left and she wept as they screamed and she wept as their corpses were scavenged. Because god-dammit, she loved them with a force that could set fire to cities. But this love had not been enough to keep them from crossing that threshold. Because.. well, because they did not love her back.
اس کے منہ سے وہ الفاظ نکلتے ہی محفل میں موجود تمام افراد خاموش ہو گئے۔ وہ معصوم نظروں سے ان سب کو دیکھ رہی تھی اور شاید یہ اندازہ کرنا چاہ رہی تھی کہ کہیں اس نے کوئی غلط بات نہ کہہ دی ہو۔ عثمان اس کی کیفیت کو بھانپ چکا تھا اور یہ جانتا تھا کہ اگر سب اسکو یوں ہی گھورتے رہے تو اس کی آنکھوں سے آنسو ٹپکنے میں دیر نہیں لگے گی۔ اسی لیے اس نے ہنس کر محفل کا رخ واپس 'دست صبا' کی طرف موڑ دیا۔ قندیل نے اس کی طرف ممنون نظروں سے دیکھا اور پھر دونوں اپنے اپنے حلقے میں گفتگو میں مگن ہو گئے۔ یہ ان کی پہلی اور آخری ملاقات تھی۔ // stories that could have been
Honey. When she asked you your favourite colour you said it was the colour of lightning. When you love you love so much it hurts to keep it in. It's bursting out of you in streams and as tears. My love, this is not weakness. This is strength in it's highest form - to let yourself feel with such intensity. I am weakness, I am fear. I tremble in the face of confrontation. But you, my angel, you are rainbows and beauty and strength. You are the colour of lightning. You are bright red love, bleeding love, heartwarming love. You are light, and light, and light.
I wish I could walk next to a river for the rest of my life. Until my feet bleed or I die of hunger or heartbreak or both. This isn't what 19 is supposed to feel like. // excerpt from an unfinished series
You need time to reconnect with what you came from. Go to natural history exhibits, science museums, buy star charts. Listen to the universe. Listen to the stars calling you home. Science is beautiful if you let it be. There are few things more amazing than finally understanding. My sentences are not coherent today. But in the wise words of Spock, the only emotion I wish to convey is gratitude. Thank you for letting me have this, albeit briefly. Thank you for what I have and what I don't. Thank you.