nessnote

okay now that i think about it, it was pretty dumb at places-

the prose is very childish but you can let it slide by calling "it easy to read." i think i'm rating it so high just because i binge-read it and missed the feeling of binge-reading something. also i loved the adrenaline rush i got when i got to know the actual culprit. on some other day i would have rated it a 3 but today it’s definitely a 4.

never lie by freida mcfadden ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

been binge-reading this book called "never lie" by frieda mcfadden since this morning (will prolly be done by the end of this day too) just because monday ko exam h toh i will do anything BUT study.

sylvia plath was right. the floor seemed wonderfully solid. it was comforting to know i had fallen and could fall no farther.

i think i'm committed to sardi-khasj

sometimes, when i’m walking alone or sitting by the window with the light falling just so, i begin to think of all the people who have passed through my life. boys, yes, but also those strange, shimmering figures who arrive briefly and leave before i’ve had the chance to understand them. and it seems to me that they have written me, line by line, the way a tide shapes the shore without ever announcing its intention. i’ve loved in silence, always. it feels almost embarrassing to admit it, this lifelong habit of mine, to yearn from the corner of a room, from a memory that swells and swells until it becomes something larger than the person who inspired it. but i suppose this is who i am. a yearner. one of those people who can spend three years, four years, loving the shadow of someone, the idea of someone. the first boy, i realise now how gently he nudged me into who i am today. i was reading thin, cheerful books, unaware of the wide world hidden in literature. then he appeared and suddenly i was reading differently. it is funny how a person can change the texture of your mind simply by existing. the second boy brought music, as if he had opened a window into a room i would never have entered otherwise. i can still hear it sometimes, the songs he liked, drifting through my days. he is gone, long gone, but the music remains loyal in a way he never was. and then the third. with him, i learned myself. or rather, i learned what i would no longer be. what a revelation it is to realise one deserves gentleness, that one’s heart is not meant to kneel in every room it enters. he never knew he taught me this. he thought he was merely passing through my life. but that is the danger of people- they leave fingerprints on you even when their hands were barely warm. and now, the last boy. the one who still wanders through my thoughts, uninvited and unresented. it is strange how someone can reawaken you simply by being themselves. through him i remembered the books that once held me, the ghazals that once i wouldn’t have listened to of my own accord. he has become, without trying, a small lamp in the corner of my mind. sometimes i think he lives there more comfortably than i do. but i don’t want to imply this story is only about boys. it is about people (all of them) shaping me like water shapes stone. if certain people had not arrived when they did, touched the surface of my life with their brief light, i suspect i would have remained a different version of myself. yearning has been my constant companion. through yearning, i have grown. sometimes i think of myself as a shoreline, always being rewritten by the tide of other people. and though they come and go, i remain here, collecting the driftwood, the music, the fragments of who i’ve become. and maybe that is what character development truly is. the long, continuous turning of the self, shaped by every person we never truly had but loved all the same.

the thing is, people are addicted to performing.

i love you more than everything. everything? everything.

there's this one person texting me on anon for quite some time but i'm unable to answer you cuz your link is disabled man

being a day scholar sucks in every possible way man