spill over benefits
Why am I always thirsty these days
Ofcourse she's into red flags, I mean look at me
He extended his hand to her. She looked at his hand the large, talented, tattooed hand that she knew so well. She really had no idea who be was, no clue of his history or even his present. Anything she knew about him was possibly not true. And as she considered his hand, her heart pounding, she realized she didn't care deep down. She knew he gave her the only semblance of peace she'd ever felt, the only form of affection she had ever craved, the only sliver of life she had ever glimpsed, even if all of it was temporary.
Taking a deep breath, she slid her hand into his, and felt him exhale, like he had been holding his breath with her.
He smiled. "you're perfect."
The smile warmed something inside her, something she hadn't even known had been frozen. It had cracked, and now it was melting, and she stared up at him, no clue what was happening, no clue where it was going, no clue where it would end, but for the first time in her life, not bothered by it. She let herself revel in the feeling of being desired, of being wanted, of being accepted.
She reveled in the feeling of being alive.
She saw him roll his eyes. "It's not that cold."
Looking at him, no one would have said it was. He was just ... warm. She doubted he'd ever felt cold in his life, not the way she did, right in the soul.
"Stay still."
She'd begun to hate those words from his mouth. He always followed them with some crazy shit.
"Are you insane?"
Yup. He was mad. She had enough evidence.
"Insanity is a spectrum," he answered, like he was in class and provoking her. "We're all a little mad here."
"Do not. Do not quote the Mad Hatter to me right now."
He chuckled, distracted, and it was the first time she focused on what he was doing.
He was painting.
Exhaling a loud breath, the air dissipating around her face, disturbed by her breathing, she looked out at the sea and wondered how easy it would be to just lean forward a bit, just a little, and go splat on the rocks. She wondered, almost dispassionately, if someone would find her body like she had Tanya's or whether she would lie there for days, rotting and decaying like in her dreams, before someone stumbled upon her.
At least she would be asleep then. No more disturbing dreams, no more escaping emotions, no more nothing. Just long, quiet peace.
They say
اپنے الفاظ سے ہر شخص اپنا ظرف دکھاتا ہے دوسرے کا عکس نہیں۔
but survival is not salvation
but I fear forgetting it to a point of becoming incapable of feeling it's occurence ever again
If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the Universe would tun to a mighty stranger.
-Emily Brontë, Wuthering Heights
"Because humans have an inherent need for inclusion, no "What kind of cost are we talking about. Miss Salazar? Can you give us
examples? "
Salem thought about it for a moment. "It can be anything, Dr. Merlin People pay exorbitant membership fees for clubs just to have a place of like-minded people looking for inclusion. So, it's a financial cost. Or the college hazing, where they pay an emotional price to let themselves be humiliated even though it goes against self-protective instincts, just so they can feel like they're a part of something bigger than themselves."
I am unstable, sometimes melancholy, and have been called on some occasions imperious.
-Mary Shelley, The Life and Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley
a man in the shadows dancing with a woman who knew darkness
People called her cold, frigid, unfeeling, and he could see why. To anyone looking from the outside, she had a chill about her, her face perpetually frozen in a stoic mask with very little give, no interest in anything around her, only her eyebrows moving or chin tilting up in a haughty manner that left anyone before her feeling like slime beneath her shoes. The only point of life in her entire body was her eyes. Only those hypnotic, magical eyes. The only visible fire in her ice.
He had thought her icy at the beginning too, just like the rest of them, but over time, prodding and poking at her just to see her react, see if she would react.
Though he had met her while she'd been hovering over a dead body. This was different. That could have been an accident, any innocent passerby stopping out of curiosity. This was darker, so much deeper, so detailed. This showed her darkness and dogged determination in pursuit of uncovering the truth. This showed him a side of her she had never been comfortable showing anyone, and anyone who had seen it had rejected it immediately, calling her odd and ostracizing her from their life.
کب تک چلے بھی تو چل لے گی یہ طغیانی
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