It's crazy how you look at things differently when you're a kid. There are places that you visited when you were a kid, and you visit them again and they just remind you of times, the times when you were younger, dumb and had no worries at all. Sometimes, nostalgia hits you hard.
Praying Imran khan wins so that:
1. People stop whining about how he should get a chance.
2. People realize citizens have more power than the leader to change the fate of a nation.
3. We can see what amazing change the same old misogynistic "electables" are going to bring.
what if, one day, all suffering is stifled by a surplus of love?
As opposed to all love being stifled under a heap of suffering. Why can't love be the sky and not the rainbow that reveals itself once in a blue moon? Why is love a blue moon and suffering, the night sky? Why do I love the night sky, even for it's continuous dullness and darkness? Why do the stars shine the brightest in the dullest of skies? Why can't the light of love ever be enough for the stars to shine? Why is the the darkness of the dull night sky necessary? Why can't it be enough, ever? Is it enough and we just haven't seen the light as bright yet? Are you that light? Will you help the star in you shine and with your shine, help my shine or do we both die in the darkness? /
its sometime past 2 AM / today once more, im treating this space like an online diary, as i did in the past. i feel like the wide-eyed 17 year old that started this account. with little expectations. without the slightest idea of scheduled posting times or algorithms. the young-writer who hesitated when she had to call herself just that, but shared more prose in three days than she does now in a month. / i still do very little to beat the 'shadow ban', whatever that is. and i don't help myself at all by going bouts at a time without posting. so for instagrammer standards, i don't pay as much attention to how + when i post as i maybe should? yet i still find the writing i share now to be less ingenuous than it once was. i filter a lot more, whether consciously or not, im not sure - but i'm aware of it now. this is perhaps a note to self to share more work. not to rid myself of the wall ive built around my writing, but to let a few pages pass through the gaps in the brick work. /🌙
Only #pakistani kids will remember this but here goes.
You remind me of those
we used to run for.
Remember hearing the Wall’s ice cream tune?
We'd run to it
no matter where we were.
Looking for 5 rupees around the house;
asking bhai if we could go, then
giddying towards the ice cream man.
The thrill of finally opening the ice cream wrapper,
thats how I feel everytime
I hear your voice, and
with you, it lingers.
was having a restless night, so opened up my #bujo and #pinterest 😊, this #atticus quote really sprung out to me
(I am not colourblind, please message me if this is insensitive and I will remove it promptly.)