Being Desi Is Realizing That Every Bollywood Movie Has The Same Plot As A Wattpad Story Written By A

That intimate moment between you and the book you have just read the last words of, where you sit there taking in the enormity of what you have just finished.

“In college I had a physics professor who wrote the date and time in red marker on a sheet of white paper and then lit the paper on fire and placed it on a metallic mesh basket on the lab table where it burned to ashes. He asked us whether or not the information on the paper was destroyed and not recoverable, and of course we were wrong, because physics tells us that information is never lost, not even in a black hole, and that what is seemingly destroyed is, in fact, retrievable. In that burning paper the markings of ink on the page are preserved in the way the flame flickers and the smoke curls. Wildly distorted to the point of chaos, the information is nonetheless not dead. Nothing, really, dies. Nothing dies. Nothing dies.”

— Nicholas Rombes, The Absolution of Roberto Acestes Laing (via bobschofield)

Ahh the inherent romanticism of waking up on a cold September morning, stepping outside in an oversized sweater to read while drinking a hot drink in the cold crisp weather.

You can’t put being in love on a scale. Either you are or you aren’t.

Jenny Han (via a-thousand-words)

do me a solid and just reblog this saying what time it is where you are and what you’re thinking about in the tags.

relationships with ur parents are so weird, arent they? like... i hate you for what you did, i love you because you bring me soup when im sick. i want to get away from you. i feel safe with you. i want to run away from you. i want your hugs. i wish you understood me. i wish i understood you.

when a girl starts growing up then all her loved ones start fading into unfamiliarity. The mouth of her mother starts spitting venomous hatred towards her growing skin. Father's opinions start falling low, shaming her for desiring extra air, outside his suffocating layers of thick curtains. The mind of her friends start revealing to be shallow, cheapening her skills to just sly trickeries. The eyes of strangers, old or young, start turning hungry, beseeching helplessly everywhere around her, to destroy.

The smell of burned dreams and an intolerable noise surrounds her, blaming her for all the impurities in the world, till she dies, sometimes even after that.

-@illusoryescapee

Is it abuse, when you were too young to realise? Is it abuse, when the criminals are your loved ones?

the feminine urge to run barefoot into the forest. to read and make art. to tell people how much they mean to you. to pick pretty flowers and put them in someone’s hair. to stare at the sky and see your own breath as you breathe in the changing air.

Mundane events for a programmer.

reblog if ur mom is smart and beautiful