a blog for literature nerds, readers, writers and poets alike.
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izzy's playlists!
Monterey Bay Aquarium
sheepfilms
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JVL
we're not kids anymore.
$LAYYYTER
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cherry valley forever

ellievsbear
Acquired Stardust

JBB: An Artblog!

Origami Around

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Misplaced Lens Cap

pixel skylines
styofa doing anything

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RMH
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@inkscribbled
a blog for literature nerds, readers, writers and poets alike.
it's winter, but it's not the winter of "farewell pe kya pehne wali ho" and it would never be the winter of 'boards mei ache marks lake arts leni hai' ever again
Tum jaane ke pehle, ek baar mujhe gale laga ke jaana
Jaane ke baad jo sannatta ghere baitha hai,
usse kaise nikle, bata ke jaana
"Please don't ever become a stranger whose laugh I can recognise anywhere" is deeply haunting when you think about it from the perspective of estranged siblings.
the eldest daughter crime is wanting to kill everyone but thinking the consequences are too much to handle
Bohot karlia chai coffee ko romanticise. Abb orange juice ki baari hai.
next turn for glucon-d
i wish this september is kind to me. I hope this september, im kind to myself
And this is the truth of our country and I will feel guilty of Being Indian if she will not get Justice.
Rose Sanderson: Wings of Freedom, from the “Bugs on Book Covers” series
girl I would kill myself if I did that lol
reading harry potter actively makes you less literate
j why did you censor the name of the scottish play
I think doing that is way funnier than saying the Scottish play, and I’m not going to risk actually saying the name and having something bad happen
i just realized despite me making fun of you for saying m*cbeth, i refused to say it myself. i am fucked up
even I, the op, flinched while writing it in the notes 😔
do y’all only post from inside a theatre?
All the world's a stage, catgirlforeskin.
why does our history glorify mahatma gandhi so much? as if sirf wohi ek insaan tha jiske kaaran humme azaadi mili
"wohi aisa insaan tha jiske karan azaadi itni late mili"
ink.scribbled
"Somedays you will be old enough to read fairy tales again "
C.S Lewis
my mother wasn't the first to cry when I was born.
Of course, I didn't know this, but it's a small anecdote my parents love telling me. Even though I tore her open, my mother never shed a tear. No, it was my dad that cried when he held me.
"Full-on sobbing," my mom told me, laughing the entire time. "Your father has always been a crybaby." My dad never refuted this, just smiling like he could never imagine not crying.
Now I wonder who it was that cried first, my mom or my dad, when faced with the remains of my body, lifeless and broken beyond repair- like a ragdoll that got used one too many times.
Maa, they broke my hips, crushed my glasses so they stuck into my eyes, walked all over me with their boots, tortured me for their pleasure and had their way with my body, then strangled me to death. Left me there on full display to rot. But can you still call me your pari one more time?
Paa, they used me because I was a girl. Had I been a boy they would have killed me but kept my dignity, but unfortunately, I'm not a boy, so did that mean I am not deserving of even a dignified death? nine to ten of them Paa, I couldn't even see most of them- can you still call me meri bachi once more?
I don't know what I did wrong, Maa, I only ever listened to your words. I couldn't stand what they were doing in that building. Paa, I've always been your brave girl, the one who couldn't stand injustice. Do you wish I had stayed quiet on this? Do you think I may have survived if I acted like I didn't see?
I promise I didn't do anything wrong Paa, I never meant any harm. I swear I didn't tempt them Maa, I had my kurta and my doctor's coat.
My stethoscope broke Maa. My doctor's coat is red now.
Please forgive me.
seeing the "do you love the color of the sky?" post is like waiting for doom to happen
for all people say about love, i can't fathom why we forget about sibling love so often. brother and sisters. siblings. i love you so much but i'd rather die before saying it to you. to see yourself in your younger siblings is both a crime and a prize, i love how you took my wardrobe and my kindness and my words. i hate how you couldn't become better than me.
to know each other's smallest habits, and bicker over everything just to wrap it all one day when you move out of your parent's house and your sibling becomes just a sibling. not your personal servant, and personal driver and chef all mixed in an embody that you would die for without a thought but just another child of your parents.
i don't know you anymore but not long before i could recognize you from your footsteps and easily figure out if you were in trouble with your breathing patterns. but now we sit in the living room staring at each other, fidgeting with the leather, talking about the rain, when all we want to ask is whether we remember the monsoon when you were 5 and i was 8 and we got so drenched, jumping around in puddles because you wanted to recreate Peppa Pig.