क्या कहे हम इश्क़ में ईस कदर बेज़ुबां हो गए

Let my heart tell you, "I love you", a hundred thousand times, every time a different nuance, a different color, a different sound.

e.v.e.

گئے موسم میں جو کِھلتے تھے گلابوں کی طرح

دل پہ اُتریں گے وہی خواب عذابوں کی طرح

Like roses that bloomed last season

The same dreams will descend on the heart like torments

_Parveen Shakir // پروین شاکر

M.S. (via coffee-crinkled-pages)

lovers in the garden

all i’m saying is if you’d stop playing we could be the centre of attention at any place we walk in

“It is called the ney...And its sound is the sigh of the lover for the beloved.”

“If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more.”

—

Mr. Knightley, Emma (2020)

another reason why i feel single—

it’s not mr. darcy but mr. knightley-

- trix, feb 11 2022

[text ID: tweet by rhiannon mcgavin that reads, “why wouldn’t i include the moon in all my poems? that’s my friend”]

His soul rushed out. Carrying the memory that was important. The only memory that was important.

Vedavati.

— War of Lanka, Amish

But Park’s face was like art. And not weird, ugly art either. Park had the sort of face you painted because you didn’t want history to forget it.

If she showed him how much she needed him, he’d run away.

Eleanor was right: She never looked nice. She looked like art, and art wasn’t supposed to look nice; it was supposed to make you feel something.

—Eleanor & Park, Rainbow Rowell