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Muslim. Pakistani American. Punjabi. Traveler. SDSU. Write. Friendly, but blunt. 21 years old. Dance. Adventures. Coffee. Cats. Half hipster, Half desi. Sarcasm. Foodie.
Apr 22 '14
"when it all comes down to it; does it really fucking matter?"
Apr 22 '14




Apr 22 '14

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the sound I heard when I was 9 and my father slammed the front door so hard behind him I swear to god it shook the whole house. For the next 3 years I watched my mother break her teeth on vodka bottles. I think she stopped breathing when he left. I think part of her died. I think he took her heart with him when he walked out. Her chest is empty, just a shattered mess or cracked ribs and depression pills.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s all the blood in the sink. It’s the night that I spent 12 hours in the emergency room waiting to see if my sister was going to be okay, after the boy she loved, told her he didn’t love her anymore. It’s the crying, and the fluorescent lights, and white sneakers and pale faces and shaky breaths and blood. So much blood.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the time that I had to stay up for two days straight with my best friend while she cried and shrieked and threw up on my bedroom floor because her boyfriend fucked his ex. I swear to god she still has tear streaks stained onto her cheeks. I think when you love someone, it never really goes away.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the six weeks we had a substitute in English because our teacher was getting divorced and couldn’t handle getting out of bed. When she came back was smiling. But her hands shook so hard when she held her coffee, you could see that something was broken inside. And sometimes when things break, you can’t fix them. Nothing ever goes back to how it was. I got an A in English that year. I think her head was always spinning too hard to read any essays.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s that I do.

(via ie-va)

(Source: extrasad)

Apr 20 '14
"Delete her number.

Stop ringing her. Stop messaging her. Stop making excuses to see her, to drop by her place.

Erase her name from memory. Remove yourself from her life, more completely than you would like but as completely as she deserves. Move on, so that you can allow her to also move on. When you close your eyes, you don’t get to see her face. Not anymore. You don’t get to think about her lips, the warm glow of her skin when she rests next to you, or how she squeezes your hand in her sleep. You are not allowed to remember the smell of her perfume, that she only drinks mint tea (with two dollops of honey), or that she loves you.

She loves you.

She has been in love with you for too long.

So, forget how she says your name. Forget how she calls your name. Forget how she screams your name. Forget that time you got sick and she stayed up with you all night, letting you lay your head in her lap and holding a cold compress to your forehead. Forget how her hair feels in your fingers. Forget how she looks in your sweatshirts.

Forget her.

Know only that she existed at one point in your life, but relinquish all hope that she could exist at another point — sometime in the future that you are unwilling to specify because you don’t know what you want. Yet. It is not fair for you to swoop in and out of her life as you choose. It is not fair for you to say that you are satisfied with “things as they are” and you will have time to “figure it out” later. Let her stop investing emotionally in you. Let her pour that love and care into the people who deserve her.

Don’t tell her that you think about her all the time. Don’t tell her that it bothers you to hear about her with other people, but that you’re willing to understand as long as she likes you more than them. Don’t tell her that this isn’t the right moment but that there will be a right moment. There is not going to be a right moment. She shouldn’t have to wait for the right moment.

Don’t tell her that you can’t handle ultimatums, that you don’t like the idea of finally adding finality to your relationship — whatever still remains of it.

What you are telling her is that you want to keep her on as an option, that you are taking her for granted, that you want to know she will be there, that you can depend on her at the end of the day. When you find that no one else has stuck around or that those who have are less interesting, less thoughtful, or less doggedly loyal to you.

Doggedly loyal to you.

That is what she has been to you, for you almost as long as you have known her: a constant emotional crutch, the guarantee of stability, a safety net while you reachvout to grasp objects that sparkle and shine far greater than she does. All that glitters is not gold, haven’t you heard?

She is fire. You are ice, and you are afraid that her slow burn will smolder your cool, hard demeanor. That’s what has driven your decisions, your actions all along: fear. You are a coward. You are a hypocrite. You are terrified to let her go, but you are afraid she is too good for you, that she could drive you wild, that you would choke on her flames. That she is too much for you to handle right now.

Right now.

But if you choose not to love her now, you can’t choose to love her later."
(via acidxcult)

(Source: laurenhooper)

Apr 20 '14
"Please waste your time on me."
Six Word Story  (via codyduong)

(Source: allineedissix)

Apr 20 '14



Cutest thing ever

The most precious thing ive reblogged in a long time

(Source: militarysweetiesblog)

Apr 17 '14
"that’s what really scares me. falling in love is easy. having sex is easier. but bumping into someone that can spark your soul - that shit is rare. you could fuck four, five, all the people in a god damned room and you’d only feel a connection with one. or none at all. and what sucks is despite the undeniable real magnetic pull between the two of you, more often than not, you don’t end up together. i’m afraid i won’t meet anyone else i can connect with. i’m scared it’ll just be you."

sade andria zabala (surfandwrite) | connection (via warriorprincessally)

wow someone finally wrote down what I have been trying to let out

(via universal-crush)

(Source: surfandwrite)

Apr 17 '14
Apr 17 '14



ransom and i got married several months ago in an intimate ceremony, but recently had a larger reception for more family and friends, and it was a blast! as we’re both writers, it seemed fitting to have the event at one of our favorite bookstores: the last bookstore in downtown LA. we’ve had a lot of requests for photos, so i thought i’d drop a few here. hope you enjoy them as much as we do! 

:::for the especially curious:::

my bouquet: was made from the pages of ransom’s novel (miss peregrine’s home for peculiar children).

our photographers: brandon + katrina of brandon wong photography.

venue: the last bookstore in downtown los angeles.

catering: the extremely fabulous heirloomla.

flowers: from floral art!

rentals: furniture from found rentals, dishes from dishwish!

the band: one of our favorite local indie bands, the gallery.

hugs and books!



Ultimate hipster wedding

Apr 17 '14

Because it is our decision.


Because it is our decision.

Apr 17 '14
"How right that the body changed over time, becoming a gallery of scars, a canvas of experience, a testament to life and one’s capacity to endure it."
Janet Fitch  (via fading-breath)

(Source: larmoyante)

Apr 15 '14

Best friend post.

When all you have to do is ask them to go on a drive with you and they immediately know something’s up.

When you get in the car and you are already crying and they don’t barrage you with questions. They just hold your hand.

When they know just where to take you to recover from your little breakdown.

When, especially after so many years, they know and you don’t have to waste the effort trying to explain yourself.

And above all, when they can determine how rough of a time you’re having just by the way you are dressed.

Apr 14 '14
The Lady Maple #twentyfiveshadesofbrown #colorstudy #fashion #gettingbacktothebasics #brown

The Lady Maple #twentyfiveshadesofbrown #colorstudy #fashion #gettingbacktothebasics #brown

Apr 14 '14

if you know me, you know that I do not cry often. In fact, since my accident, my endurance for pain is substantial. Today, however, was the first time in my life that I cried tears of joy.

My good friend, Jordan, visited me this morning before work. We’ve both been having a rough time; she struggling with roommate situations and me from work and school. I gave her a mug I picked up the other day with her initial on it and bought myself a matching one. We go out for coffee before I walk to work. 

I come home from work, exhausted, with a fat paper waiting for me to write it, to find a bag of trader joe’s on my bed, a card propped up on it. Inside are coffee mix, healthy snacks, and a bottle of sparkling pomegranate juice. I sat on my bed, in awe, staring at this gesture. Incapable of comprehending the kind of thoughtfulness and kindness my friend so unselfishly gave to me. 

After weeks upon weeks of feeling underappreciated and overworked, I cried. I was so grateful and happy that someone out there, in all the billions, gives a damn and cares about me. The validation of existence, the extremity of kindness rendered me blubbering. 

Thank you.

Apr 14 '14
"Let go of relationships that do not serve you. That means negative people, dishonest people, people who don’t respect you, people who are overly critical and relationships that prevent you from growing. You can’t grow as a person, if you don’t have people in your life who want to grow with you."
Unknown  (via sadsleepy)

(Source: murmurrs)