کافر نہ سمجھ ہم کو اے طاہر ناداں
he's been such a good boy lately
so much for an off day
اے درد بتا کچھ تو ہی پتا
اب تک یہ معمہ حل نہ ہوا
ہم میں ہے دل بے تاب نہاں
یا آپ دل بے تاب ہیں ہم
ہجرت میں ہی بقاء ہے۔
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.
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
Oh, Alizeh was tired.
Tired of feeling she had no control over her life, tired of being manipulated by the devil, tired of living in fear, tired of fear itself. The dark truth she seldom revealed even to herself was that sometimes she wanted nothing more than to break, to be weak, to tear off her armor and give in.
How long would she be forced to fight for her life? More importantly, Was her life really worth so much effort?
It troubled her that she had no answer.
She stood on tiptoe, asking with her body that he come closer-which he did, drawing toward her then without seeming to realize what he'd done, not until she nearly grazed the shell of his ear with her lips, when she whispered, for all the world as if they were playful lovers. "Choose your weapon, sire."
Cyrus drew back so suddenly he nearly stumbled, newborn anger flaring to life between them. His chest heaving, his jaw clenched, he looked as if he might implode with fury.
"This is terribly inconvenient for me," she said, drawing her shoulder back, planting her feet firmly beneath her. "But I'll have to kill you now," Alizeh heard Sarra laugh.
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