Sweet Seals For You, Always
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One Nice Bug Per Day
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@peasunflower
I've been getting a lot of chinese stone cutting reels on my fyp. it always amazed me how the most unassuming looking stones end up having the prettiest crystal centers. today, it makes sense.
it feels surreal. today my heart is heavy, not from sadness but from the overflowing memories, overwhelming love and an overdosage of emotions. college for me was finding and cherishing the unassuming crystals. so so grateful.
andy bernard was right about the good ol days.
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i am merely a culmination of my fav people. no more than an equation with attachment to it's variables. because who am i if not for her jokes, his kindness and thoughts, her simplicity, his mom's gajar ka halwa, her jhumka and pancakes. my inner circle is simply strokes of their voice. my favourite ripple. my circle is my inner child's fav spot to blow bubbles and hop around. carefree and free. who am I if not for my people.
wind on my face. yearning in the air. a reminder to breathe, to notice, an open newspaper and a loud grandpa with a happy news. smiley goodbyes to loved ones as the bus moves away. that softness of waiting. a kid with a mock steering wheel and a proud mom. a glimpse of innocence. a glimpse of love and that of peace. a glimpse of simplicity. just how it's meant to be.
bus rides. gosh I love them.
Diwali. The festival of lights, they say. To me diwali is a celebration of simplicity. It's the joy of new clothes, and the comfort and softness therein. It's the echoing laughter that blooms before the dawn. The thrill of being a kid and choosing my fav lantern and bringing it home. The softness of home. The memories entangled with each stroke of the rangoli. The colors in the night sky and the sweetness in mum's cooking. soft. simple. diwali <3
I'm writing a book.
And some pages I don't want to turn. And some pages I read till it's ingrained in my heart. I'm writing a book, and some pages I wish I hadn't turned. Some pages so beautiful, I wish I could turn back to. Some pages I flipped through, in angst.
I'm writing a book, and I flip the page unaware of the next one. I'm writing a book, and i rewrite the previous page, just so it lasts a bit longer. I'm writing a book, and I overwrote.
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It's morning.
I see cars on the highway through my window, I wonder what their lives are like.
I'm in a car myself.
I see them smiling. I see joy. I see life. I see lives.
It's evening.
I see cars on the highway through my window, I wonder if they're going home.
Pancakes taste better with her. There's smth about her that makes even noisy foodcourts feel like home. Her warmth and softness, she feels like home. The timeless trust and gossip and the heart pouring and the feeling of safety. And I never have those pancakes without her. It used to be ice-teas and now it's pancakes.
But they have always tasted better with her.
risotto is just fancy khichdi.
I wish the sunset lasted longer. I wish I could bathe in the shades of the sunset just for a second more. I wish I could soak in the chilly warmth and ask you questions about what tomorrow holds. I wish I could tell you I miss my friends terribly today. Or maybe I'd tell you how beautiful you look and how I always remove my glasses to look at you. I wish the sunset lasted longer and I could see you a little while more.
home brings you memories, she said, the curtains remind her of untold tales. the walls speak to me of badminton evenings and dares to stand on them. my windows although forgotten, remain my fav spot to write my homework. my kitchen reminds me of numerous sit-on-the-counter gossip sessions with my mum. home floods me with memories I cherish, people I adore and thoughts unspoken but never unfelt.
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what are rains if not collective electricity breakouts,
what are rains if not impromptu jam sessions,
what are rains if not yearning,
what are rains, if not romanticising the darkness of your room
what are rains if not nature quenching your soul's thirst,
what are rains.
waste time -?
oooh... I wanna have wheat and sugarcane farms again :(
To see the softness in people. To see the kid waving bye to the street dog. To see the couple reading to each other. To see her explain her love. To soak in the light orange sunlight streaks on your bedroom wall. To sit under the sky and breathe like you haven't in a while. To admire the way she beams at the mention of crispello and the way he smiles. It doesn't take a lot to melt into this. To soak. To find home.
She called me the heart girl.
The romanticism of being known and seen. Green. Oh to have an impact on people. The romanticism of life. The joy in tiny tiny things. The understanding and appreciation of people. The softness of comfort. The pink of home. She called me the heart girl and it made my day.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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You told me I look at your eyes quite a lot. And between you and me, i never realised it. And I've never been shy of eye contact, but, between you and me, I've never had a pair of eyes I've so wanted to shy away from and not stop looking at the same time. Between you and me.
apricity.
noun. The warmth of sun in the winter.
The apricity of the lunch hour. And the apricity of the car ride back home. The home in warmth. And the warmth on her face. The soft brown streaks of his hair. The yellowness of my room. apricity. home.