Nocturne

It’s beautiful, isn’t it? How people see you through the prism of their own affection how every name, every word, becomes a reflection of how you’ve touched their world. Each compliment feels like a tiny love letter written in a language only the soul understands. And when you give one, it’s like you’re planting a seed in someone’s heart. something that may bloom later, quietly, when they need it most.

I just love, love, love beautiful compliments. I love giving them, and I love receiving them. I’ve kept every lovely name I’ve ever been called, every tender word someone once said to me all carefully tucked away like little treasures. There’s something so undeniably heart-warming about being called by names that people have crafted just for you, shaped from the impression you’ve left upon their hearts. Someone might call you sun; another, sunflower. because to them, you shine, you’re warm, and you make the world around you glow. And someone else might call you moon; because you’re their silver light in the dark, a quiet, gentle presence that makes the night feel less lonely.

با کدام بال مي توان از زوال روزها و سوزها گريخت؟! با کدام اشک مي توان پرده بر نگه خيره‌ی زمان کشيد؟ با کدام دست می‌توان عشق را به بند جاودان کشيد؟

–فروغ فرخزاد

Perhaps to miss them does not mean I shouldn’t have changed; it is only that I remember who I once was, and cling, tenderly, to the fragments that still hold meaning.

Sometimes I miss the older versions of myself, the ones I tried so hard to leave behind, to outgrow… They’re still here, in little pieces. the softness, the spark, the fire, the innocence I once held.

When Reyhaneh asked me, “Are you going to read a book?” and I said, “How did you know?” she replied, “Because when you tie your hair like this, it means you want to read.” That’s when I realized who had raised my standards so high.

بعد ازم می‌پرسن چرا اینقدر زبان‌آموزهات رو دوست داری :)))))

Not an early bird, not a night owl… just a permanently exhausted pigeon.