It is a comfortable melancholy and the rain is complimentary. There is a hope in nature . It’s like Rumi & Beethoven playing symphonies together. I will forever be marveling at the beauty that is my home town. It still smells like yesterday not washed but fresh, original , honest , without glamour , without style, yet I don’t want to improve you meray Watan.

I need to let emotions take turns. They are all important to me as a whole. I am trying to find balance in the intensity and duration I allow of each.

One hundred channels are playing at the same time inside my head. I cannot get any of it stop working. My breath is too thick to go through my lungs. It’s been raining for so long. I am scribbling away at my notebook, ink-stained fingers leaving marks.sometimes it feels good to be a writer, other times it is a goddamn struggle. I have been nursing aches & discovering new bruises all day but I’m grateful to be reminded of my tendency to say I’m fine when I’m not .  My mother sitting next to me. Her voice comforts me. On my note book every single things in my life now makes perfect sense: the connections I couldn’t bridge , the choices I couldn’t make, the natural world  and all it’s sunsets turned on and off in me. The idea is to split my self from most of the stations to ease my time on this planet. I am slowly learning how to silence the part of my brain that overthinks. I am existing in my moment as they are happening .

Bazeecha-e-itfal hai duniya meray aage

Hota hai shab-o-roz tamasha meray aage