I May Look Fine But Deep Down I Wanna Do This.

i can be trusted on a nature walk i promise. i promise i will stay on the trail and will not run off into the forest never to be seen again i promise

Listening to Ghodey Pe Sawaar before watching the movie v/s after watching the movie:

There is a stag in the snow. Blink and he will vanish. Was he a stag at all or was he something else? Was he a sentiment hanging unspoken or a path not taken or a closed door left unopened? Or was he a deer, glimpsed amongst the trees and then gone, disturbing not a single branch in his departure? The stag is a shot left untaken. An opportunity lost. Stolen like a kiss. In these new forgetful times with their changed ways sometimes the stag will pause a moment longer. He waits though once he never waited, would never dream to wait or wait to dream. He waits now. For someone to take the shot. For someone to pierce his heart. To know he is remembered.

- The Starless Sea by Erin Morgenstern

The true blasphemy of literature is the romanticization of romance. They make it beautiful—all soft words, and elegant lines—and enchanting, with magic sparkling in the margins.

And you can feel it in the depths of your soul, an unexplored ocean of laughter and tears and dreams all melded together.

The yearning of a kiss that brushes against the steady and so so warm pulsing beat of life—against the smooth skin of a lovers neck. The desperation to touch another being and feel that they’re alive, right there next to you—right there, and never leaving.

To love and be loved is a jewel among treasures and all that we each seek—all that we each desire.

It burns and it burns and it burns.

“I would know him in death, at the end of the world.”

“Come home and break my heart, if you must.”

“Occasionally, Fate pulls itself together again and Time is always waiting.”

“And perhaps it is the greatest grief, after all, to be left on earth when another is gone.”

“By you, I am forever undone.”

“One word from you shall silence me forever.”

“A heart’s a heavy burden.”

“My sweet nemesis.”

“If you have to go, you know I will go with you.”

and then?

and then.

The book is over.

And you remember that love like that doesn't exist.

Not in the real world.

And all you can do is cry.

I took a deep breath and listened to the old brag of my heart. I am, I am, I am.

The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath

You belonged in the library, as much as any book.

- The Sorcery of Thorns

The recurring butterfly motifs and gargoyle statues in Qala are everything

Memory is a funny thing. When I was in the scene I hardly paid it any attention. I never stopped to think of it as something that would make a lasting impression, certainly never imagined that 18 years later I would recall it in such detail. I didn’t give a damn about the scenery that day. I was thinking about myself. I was thinking about the beautiful girl walking next to me. I was thinking about the two of us together, and then about myself again. I was at that age, that time of life when every sight, every feeling, every thought came back, like a boomerang, to me. And worse, I was in love. Love with complications. Scenery was the last thing on my mind.

- Norwegian Wood by Haruki Murakami

the night circus says what if every piece on a chessboard had a personality and a history all their own. what if the victor of the last game was still skulking on the board. what if the queens were imbued with unearthly magical power and aimed directly at each other. and what if they fell in love

"Poetry. The weather. It's like a poem. Where each word is more than one thing at once and everything's a metaphor. The meaning condensed into rhythm and sound and the spaces between sentences. It's all intense and sharp, like the cold and the wind."

"You could just say it's cold out."

"I could."

The starless sea by Erin Morgenstern