Doors In Old Delhi, By Anish Mathur

Doors in Old Delhi, by Anish Mathur

It was never about the babies, but it doesn’t matter even if it was.

Brianna Wiest, The Mountain is You

That moment of joy when you finally get glasses with updated prescription after living with blurred vision for so long that you stare in disbelief and pure amazement at how the world looks so HD and crystal clear normally.

'My You' gives me such strong urges to create those corny anniversary video montages with over-used transitions and dramatic filters with the pictures of my loved ones on PowerPoint or default video editor with it

[ID: The Thing Is by Ellen Bass

to love life, to love it even / when you have no stomach for it / and everything you’ve held dear / crumbles like burnt paper in your hands, / your throat filled with the silt of it. / When grief sits with you, its tropical heat / thickening the air, heavy as water / more fit for gills than lungs; / when grief weights you down like your own flesh / only more of it, an obesity of grief, / you think, How can a body withstand this? / Then you hold life like a face / between your palms, a plain face, / no charming smile, no violet eyes, / and you say, yes, I will take you / I will love you, again. /END ID.]