Sorry if this is too kinky but can you hold my hand and tell me i mean a lot to you.

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@ishqiscontagious
Sorry if this is too kinky but can you hold my hand and tell me i mean a lot to you.
In English we say, "hold on, we'll try to get back together."
But in Urdu we say,
"हमारे किस्से के मोती अपने सन्दूक़ में सजा के रखना,
हर कैफ़ियात-ए-ज़िन्दगी में रंग आएँ तुम्हारे,
पर मेरे हिस्से की मोहब्बत बचा के रखना।"
i love saying Yay. literally Yay!
I love saying "wow." Literally, wow.
What good emotions can you all feel?
I have "known of" so many good emotions "happiness, excitement, hope, love," etc.
But i just now realised that the only emotion I have felt in years is relief.
Not as a constant but from time to time, for a second, for a minute or for a while something lifts off him before it settles back into its place.
you aren't insane you just live with your parents
you aren't insane you just live with your parents
you aren't insane you just live with your parents
you aren't insane you just live with your parents
you aren't insane you just live with your parents
I heard there are air purifiers for toxic fumes, can they cleanse my lungs since all my veins are steeped in his scent and all my capillaries are drenched in his memories?
Put an Amazon link down if someone knows such machinery.
Also, how are the people who have too many hobbies and interests but too little talent and a little to no time? Really, how are you?
Bare minimum for me would be worshipping the ground she walks on
That should be the bare minimum for everyone 😮💨
To me, hate sounds like my voice.
To me, love sounds like a dead foreign language.
"How are you?"
"I'm brave."
I have boundaries, I have set them, I have announced them but you setting boundaries doesn't mean other people would respect those boundaries.
i don't know how to ask for my childhood back.
i don't know how to ask for my teenage back.
i can't ask for something that was never mine to begin with.
but my youth —
my youth is being stolen right now.
so maybe I can ask for it.
but by the time I do,
it'll already be too late.
I might have sinned when I wished for your death
— my heart's a graveyard now,
but i am still a little selfish,
and I want you to stay.
I have been impressing people since forever:
TITLE: MY MOTHER'S GOD.
My mother believes in god.
So when she tells me,
"Your sin gave your father cancer,"
I just nod.
because my mother believes in god.
I am a sinner according to her.
I am a sinner, not for doing something extreme,
but for daring to live on my own terms,
for keeping myself alive with what little rebellion I have left,
But beneath skin and silence, I’ve buried my scream.
Nobody listens, nobody cares; I am a fraud,
because my mother believes in god.
I cry red into silence, hoping to feel something,
hoping there’s some life still left in mine,
but she angrily plasters a bandage on me,
taking my attempts away too.
She calls me names — on Monday I’m seeking attention, on Tuesday I’m a whore.
But she is celebrated, while I rot,
because my mother believes in god.
Should I be grateful or should I curse the fact that despite all misfortune I can still feel love?
— Franz Kafka, from Diaries 1910-1923
"Wait" so I waited and life became a waiting room .
किसी के लिए इज़हार हैं
तो किसी के लिए ऐतबार...
मैंने अपनी तन्हाई मे
तुम्हारी यादों के साथ
इतना जो वक़्त गुज़ार लिया हैं
मेरे लिए इश्क़ अब सिर्फ इंतज़ार हैं~