My ex calls the ochre winter ‘autumn’ as we queue to hear dock boys play jazz fugues in velvet dark. – Broken Verses.
How to explain to the earth that it was more functional as a vegetable patch than a flower garden, just as factories were more functional than schools and boys were more functional as weapons than as humans.
We should have stories in common, I found myself thinking. We should have stories, and jokes no one understands, and memories that we know will stay alive because neither of us will let the other forget.
When you can be this, why are you ever anything else? – Broken Verses.
Pride! In English it is a Deadly Sin. But in Urdu it is fakhr and nazish – both names that you can find more than once on our family tree.
So many things you promise yourself you won’t get used to, and then you do.
This world is out of date.
Don’t you know how much I hero-worshiped you when I was a kid? You were Marie Curie crossed with Emily Bronte crossed with Joan of Arc to me when I was ten. And when i told you that, you said my cultural references were the sign of a colonized mind.
Those Genes Could Have Been Mine.
I still hear the world spinning.
There’s a ghost of a dream that you don’t even try to shake free off because you’re too in love with the way she haunts you.
Love is like an eternal flame, once it is lit, it will continue to burn for all time.
Difficult but worth it – that’s how my mother had once describe life with Omi.
Is love stronger when it let’s go or when it holds on?
The truths we conceal don’t disappear Raheen, they appear in different forms.
Decisions. Where, what, why. Can’t handle them. So I’m prolonging the indecision with higher education.
You have this ability to find beauty in weird places.
How do you eat your roots?
The world won’t get more or less terrible if we’re indoors somewhere with a mug of hot chocolate,’ Kim said. ‘Though it’s possible it will seem slightly less terrible if there are marshmallows in the hot chocolate.
How horrifying that morning when you wake up and your first thought is not of the person who has left. That’s when you know, I will never die of a broken heart.
Somewhere deep within the marrow of our marrow, we were the same.