Us —A two-letter romance. @cosmos-calling - Tumblr Blog

Hypothetically… if someone here liked you, how should they tell you?

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The allure of secrets, draped in color and shadow.

Lost in the way that feels right

why does life feel like it’s flying by now?

like, when you’re a kid, one summer feels like a whole lifetime. every day is huge. every hour is something new. you’re fully there. fully inside it.

but then you grow up, and days start blending together. weeks vanish. months go by and you barely remember what even happened. it’s all just… routine. automatic. blurry. like your brain stopped hitting “record.”

it’s not just that time goes faster ..it’s that nothing sticks the same way. you’re living it, but it’s like nothing leaves a mark.

so the secret isn’t trying to slow down time, but to make life more memorable again.

whatever that means. maybe that’s art. or love. or just noticing stuff more. idk.

just… don’t let it all slide by unnoticed.

#memory #nostalgia #slow down #thoughts

Eye Love You

There are things the body remembers, yes, but it’s the eyes that carry eternity. They’re like black holes refusing to burn out, holding something that feels both older than the universe and younger than first light. How else do you explain looking at someone and feeling, in that instant, like you’ve lived a thousand lifetimes together?

There’s a quiet miracle in the way the body unclenches under a certain kind of gaze. When someone looks at you not as a problem to be solved, but as a poem to be savored, your whole being softens. We pretend hands are the most intimate part of us, but it has always been the eyes. They have been unraveling us since before we had words for it.

And yet, we reduced them to “windows to the soul,” as if they were passive, fragile panes of glass. Windows can shut. Eyes are not windows—they are sinkholes. You fall in, and there’s no climbing back out.

If you’ve ever been swallowed whole by a stare, you know the kind of aliveness I mean..the kind that ruins your appetite for small talk.

“I love you” can feel like child’s play, something rehearsed and safe.

But “eye love you”? That’s dangerous. That means someone has seen every scar you tried to cover, every mask you put on—and instead of recoiling, they lean closer. They don’t flinch. They say, without hesitation, “yes. exactly this.”

love is parked car conversations…engine off, streetlights humming, the world rushing outside but you staying s.t.i.l.l

it’s the song finishing on the radio, but neither of you moving to leave. it’s realizing the parking spot has become its own universe,

and

you’d rather be late everywhere else than on time to goodbye.

#late night talks

“I don’t usually do this but have you found your soulmate, if not then let's talk ?"

Well, I surprised myself by answering this one 🤔

Everything here is too much and not enough at the same time.”

#yearning #melancholy #rains

nizar qabbani once wrote, “love is not an eastern novel.”

i think about that a lot. how we inherited stories where love meant suffering, endless waiting, quiet sacrifice. where tragedy was the proof of devotion, and happiness was something almost shameful.

but love was never supposed to be a performance of pain. not a script written for an audience, not a myth passed down like inheritance.

love is alive. messy. tender. human. it’s not the novel we were told to rehearse…it’s the way someone brings you tea without asking, the laugh that slips out in the middle of an argument, the quiet presence that doesn’t demand applause.

maybe the bravest thing is to unlearn the theater, and let love be what it is: not a tragedy, not a fable, but a life being lived.

الحب ليس رواية شرقية

love is not an eastern novel

as james baldwin once wrote, “love takes off the masks that we fear we cannot live without and know we cannot live within.”

i keep coming back to that. because real intimacy isn’t about performance, or proving yourself worthy. it’s about taking off the mask, showing the raw and trembling parts of yourself, and trusting that someone won’t flinch.

that’s the kind of love that matters. the kind that doesn’t ask you to shrink, or pretend, or polish your edges. the kind that says: come as you are.

and maybe that’s the only kind of love worth waiting for.

they call it the faded perfume theory…how a scent can sit on a shirt, or drift through the air, and suddenly it’s the only bridge back to someone you thought you’d let go of. years pass, memory gets quiet, and then one familiar fragrance brushes past and you’re right there again.

time folds, the world blurs, and you remember: some scents don’t belong to perfumes. they belong to people.

کچھ خوشبو صرف ایک انسان سے جُڑی ہوتی ہے، جو زندگی بھر ساتھ رہتی ہے۔

love feels like it got turned into trends. situationships, ghosting, red flags, soft launches. words that make mess sound casual. but real love was never a trend. it was handwritten letters, waiting by the phone, eyes that said everything without saying a thing.

and i think it still exists. not loud, not dressed up. just in the hands that hold on. in the person who doesn’t scroll past you. in the one who stays, even when it’s heavy, and still whispers, i’m here.

Bit difficult to understand recent post

Addiction means that over time, fewer and fewer things make you feel good. Your world shrinks, and only that one habit or substance gives you pleasure.

Happiness, on the other hand, works the opposite way. As time goes on, more and more little things bring you joy. Your world opens up instead of getting smaller.

As an example….

Addiction in love or friendship is when you start depending on just one person, one reaction, or one source of comfort. Over time, nothing else feels enough…you keep needing that same fix, and the rest of life feels empty.

Happiness in a relationship is different. It’s when being with someone actually makes you notice and enjoy more things….shared meals, laughter, small moments, even silence together. Instead of shrinking, your joy spreads into many corners of life.

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Us —A two-letter romance.