جو اچھا لگتا ہے وہ ہر حال میں اچھا لگتا ہے۔
Violet Blue Green Red
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But sometimes knowing you could do something was almost as bad as having actually done it.
You knew what he was doing. I slipped into Dean's perspective without even meaning to. You couldn't stop it.
Empathizing with Dean: his feelings toward his father, what staring at that girl's corpse must have doneto him-I couldn't tuck that away in a separate section of my psyche. I could feel it bleeding over into my own thoughts. Right now, Dean was almost certainly thinking about the fact that he had a killer's blood in his veins. And I had Locke's in mine. Maybe Lia was right. Maybe I couldn't really understand what Dean was going through -but being a profiler meant I couldn't stop trying to. I couldn't keep from feeling his pain and recognizing in it an echo of my own.
Opposite me, Dean swallowed hard. My eyes traced the movement of his Adam's apple.
His lips parted, and he spoke. "My father made me watch."
Those whispered words carried the power of a gunshot, but I didn't react.
If I said anything, if I breathed, if I so much as moved, Dean would clam up again.
"I found out what he was doing, and he made me watch."
What were we doing, trading secrets? Trading guilt? What he'd just told me was so much bigger than anything I could have told him. He was drowning, and I didn't know how to pull him out. The two of us sat there in silence, him on the workout bench, me on the floor. I wanted to touch him, but I didn't. I wanted to tell him it would be okay, but I didn't.
غم ضیاء ہے یہ جلتا بجھتا رہتا ہے
There was something inside me, the part of me that saw people as puzzles to be solved, that wanted answers, that needed to make things awful things, horrible things, like what had happened to my mother, like what Daniel Redding had done to those women-make sense.
Always so genuine,
Always willing to own up her mistakes.
yet always so very ready to make the same mistakes, all over again.
Somethings which will forever be haunting for us can so easily, ironically be treasure for others.
We kill our health searching money and then we spent money to search health.
-Ivan Nhavotso
Agent Sterling cursed viciously under her breath, and I changed my mind about the makeup and the nail polish, the way she was dressed, the way she talked. None of it was about presenting an image of professionalism to the rest of the world. It wasn't a protective layer to keep the rest of the world out.
She did it, all of it, to keep the old Veronica Sterling the one Dean had described-in.
It takes one to know one.
"Were you really reading his posture?" I whispered.
Michael ducked his head next to mine, a delightfully wicked smile on his face. "Unlike you, I have no problems using my ability for nefarious purposes." He reached up and ran his thumb over the edge of my lip and onto my cheek. "You have something on your face.",
"Liar."
He brushed his thumb over my other cheek. "I never lie about a pretty. girl's face. You're carrying so much tension in yours that I have to ask: should I be worried about you?"
"I'm fine," I said.
"Liar," Michael whispered back.
you've stained me impure, body And soul.I rip my skin. I rinse it with blood yet I'm dirty. Eternally tainted.
وہ کیا چھپیں گے میری نگاہ سے جو مکیں ہیں میری خیال میں
میں جب چاہوں ان کو دیکھ لوں وہ کہیں سہی میں کہیں سہی
No one did this to me.
But I did it myself.
I made myself bleed
all over their story.
Bled transparent blood,
only known to the one losing it.
For them, it’s maybe water—
a nuisance, wetting their pages,
causing them inconvenience.
But colour does not matter.
Even if they could see red—
wouldn’t it all be the same for them?
do the demons she keeps buried start playing with her when there’s no one else to play with
Words, nets, webs
There used to be vehicles' noises. Not too much. Just enough to get lost into. A sign life is going on. A sign it shall all pass. A shield. It was like watching life running by Infront of your eyes.
The sun rises over the Torridon Hills, illuminations cracking the sky and atmosphere with orange and yellow hues. Flocks of birds fly over the water. I look at Stacey, and her eyes dance with the colours reflecting, her cheeks and nose red from the cold.
She’s like my own sunrise. Beautiful. Perfect. She fills a part of me that’s been empty and dark for as long as I can remember.
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