I agree with every word. But I think it won't be on a noisy day. Not on a day too much happens. It'll just be a normal boring day, that you wake up go to work, laugh at your coworkers lame/brilliant(depending on their mental capacity) jokes, and it'll just be over in the afternoon. We'd all be doing something mundane, and the humdrum activities will busy us and we won't be thinking of anything. And then it'll be over. Just like we were never there.
How will the world end?
it’s genuinely not something i think too much about. there are people to love and dishes to do in the meantime.
arabic poetry is so beautifully yet painfully romantic, i mean “they asked “do you love her to death?” i said “speak of her over my grave and watch how she brings me back to life" and “because my love for you is higher than words, i've decided to fall silent" could have got jane austen crying and shaking
𝙹𝚞𝚕𝚢 𝟷𝟸, 𝟷𝟿𝟷𝟸 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙳𝚒𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝙾𝚏 𝙵𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚣 𝙺𝚊𝚏𝚔𝚊, 𝟷𝟿𝟷𝟺-𝟷𝟿𝟸𝟹
[ID: July 12. Something moved me when I looked at her. END ID]
Tavazzo ki ummeed us mah-jabeen se
Tālluq hai kya aasmaan ko zameen se
Expecting attention from moon faced one / What relationship does the sky keeps with the ground
I wish I could write you a song,
So you’ll fall in love with me
I wish I was Orpheus or Pyramus or mirza
I wish I was Mahiwal and you were my Sohni
I hear these stories and you’re the one I think of,
I’m not supposed to, I know, but I’ve got no control.
I want to write down your name,
On a blank piece of paper,
And recite it all day, all night and again.
Like an echo in a cave,
I chant incessantly,
To me it is all the same
Heaven, God, Death and your name.
I wouldn’t turn my head,
I’d trust that you’re with me,
I wouldn’t stop and rest
Until we’d outran the peril
I would build you a boat,
You wouldn’t need a pitcher
I’d slay a lioness, or 108 suitors,
Who threatens you, my rage shall consume.
I wish to fight a war for a cause
Win or lose come home to you
What more do you want?
You’ve got an atheist wishing for you
To a God he doesn’t believe in
For a thing that he can’t get.
Why am I still here?
Why must I suffer?
Why must I go through this every day! When I don't want to?
Why must I live?
Why must I live with this horrendous thing inside me?
I don't know what's worse, my brain or my heart.
Sometimes I think my heart because that's where the pain is.
Sometimes I think it's my brain because that is why the pain is.
adult cheat sheet
reference cheat sheet
reference cheat sheet 2
reference cheat sheet 3
reference cheat sheet 4
self care cheat sheet
boredom cheat sheet
getting a job cheat sheet
school cheat sheet
school cheat sheet 2
Henry Ospovat (1877-1909), “Shakespeare’s Sonnets”, 1899.
Source
-What are you?-To define is to limit. They call me voltage. Because I've got a lot of potential, but I'm mostly negative.
168 posts