Jupiter and Mars

Fly me to the moon
And let me play among the stars
Let me see what spring is like
On Jupiter and Mars
In other words hold my hand
In other words darling kiss me

Fill my life with song
And let me sing forevermore
You are all I hope for
All I worship and adore
In other words please be true
In other words I love you

the walled city

lahore will not be lahore anymore.
you will not be there.
you have flown to a far away land,
but i pray that just once again
we can sit and write our names
on a piece of paper
and bury it in the sand
so that when you return
you will always remember
we are a part of the city
and the city is a part of us
Noone knows,cause its a secret
but Lahore is our story.

Guilt.

i feel that you are truly lost when you lose the ability to speak to yourself. when you're sitting on the bed or in the tube or even in a lecture you're not even remotely interested in and your mind isn't occupied. the silence in my head scared me. it scares me, not because i have no thoughts but because i will die not having anything to say.

from the day i was born, i spoke to myself.
today, i speak to you.

it is not that i don't have thoughts or opinons or words. its just my head it not their place anymore. and when i think of that, i don't feel so scared anymore. so even if i do die, there will always be someone who knew what i wanted to say or would want to say.

something you said really stuck with me Z. what if one day i don't speak to my 'mind' and not feel guilty. then would not being guilty would be falling out of love? its so strange, isn't it. its supposed to be one of the greatest feelings in the world.

whoever said love is guilt-free was an idiot.
love is guilt.
love is guilty.
and i love it.

Incomplete

'we lead very obscure lives, i guess' she added as an afterthought.

Conversations in number 28 never came this easy. like fleeting spells of sunshine in the winter, they saved themselves usually for special occassions. a death, sadness, acheivement and every now and then when pans would clink in the kitchen. she always cooks when she thinks and one would assume she thought very little resulting in cliched turkey sandwiches with a splash of mayo and a piece of lettuce roughly chopped up to remove the decaying edges. Ones you eat when you're thinking of home. but its true, conversations in number 28 never come this easy. caution cannot always be thrown into the air.

When he walks in, the house shrinks in size. it doesn't want to provide shelter for people as disobedient as him. the air suddenly goes thick, a blatant challenge to all authority is unleashed in the air. Quickly, she asks him whether he's eaten and he lies. A thick, lazy, turkey sandwich is quite expectedly shoved under his nose. He knows she hasn't been thinking today.

Scrubs

“You’re self esteem is so wrapped up in what you do. You’re a doctor, that’s all you are, that’s how you define yourself. And you think that you’re better than me because of it.”

“Carla, I do not…”

“Admit it. Admit it right now or I’ll never respect you again.”

“Okay, sometimes that’s true…Carla, you’re a good nurse.”

“I’m a great nurse, you patronizing ass. You don’t even get it, do you? Nine years, not once I felt bad about what I do, not for one second. And then I met you.”

“Please, wait…”

“Don’t!”

tiny

our worlds revolve around tiny things. so does mine. and even though the small thing i live for may not know it yet - it is the only reason i am able to walk through days with dignity and motive. thank you.

tiny like a star children point to. like a pixie they pray to.

son of a preacher man

*wow*