"When Allah granted Prophet Yusuf (Joseph) physical beauty, it caused him to be locked up in prison. But when Allah granted him knowledge (interpreting the dream of the Pharaoh), it not only took him out of prison but elevated his rank in society, clearly showing us the virtue of knowledge and that physical beauty does not mean anything."
"I wanna go on a roadtrip someday. Alone or with someone I love. I wanna get away. Explore places. Sleep in the car. Stop a lot just to admire the view. Visit museums and try out coffee shops. Listen to my favorite albums while driving. Have a polaroid camera. Take pretty pictures of the sunrise. Take pictures of myself. Run through a forest. Chase fog. Chase the sun. Spend hours on a field making flower crowns. Feel the wind in my hair. Buy souvenirs. Meet people. Take time to observe. I wanna make memories. I wanna feel alive."
People walk on a road covered by rose-petals, spread by wholesale dealers for drying purpose, in the outskirts of Lahore.
I want to walk through that
This is someone dying while having an MRI scan. Before you
die, your brain releases tons and tons of endorphins that make you feel a range of emotions. Tragically beautiful.
You get over him like this:
at first, you don’t. his name is a note you can’t
eventually your body gets bored
of making tears over the same person
who broke you.
your body says “listen up
it was a long time ago” and for a second
you feel whole but
you catch sight of him in a starbucks and your heart drops
and your hands shake and you want to throw up and
you can’t explain to your friends why this messed you up
because you’ve already talked their ears off so you go home
and have a good old-fashioned sob but
somewhere in that night or the next one or two weeks
down the road
the things that came to the surface start getting old and
you start turning over your relationship in your palms
until you discover the ugly things you’ve been hiding
from yourself and you think
maybe it’s wasn’t always heaven maybe
it was hell
and you write about him or cry about him or
get him out of yourself however you can, you
scrape yourself clean until there’s nothing left
and rebuild from the ground up and
some wicked part of you still wants to talk to him
just to say “look, i’m new now,
but you don’t because you’ve straightened out
the voices in your head
and you write about him and make a stupid poetry blog about
red blood and black ink and you make playlists of songs
you found way after him and you
make yourself okay again eventually because
the truth is, you were whole before you found him
you have just forgotten how to be who you are
without him - don’t worry, my love
all it takes is a little soul-searching
before you rediscover
better off without him.
i just want a content soul, a positive mind, and a pure heart.