It's that godforsaken month again.

 “2 November. This morning, for the first time in a long time, the joy again of imagining a knife twisted in my heart.”

― Franz Kafka, Diaries, 1910-1923

احوال

اس نے احوال پوچھا، تو میں نے کہا، دل نہیں لگ رہا، دل نہیں لگ رہا۔

One song that I always purposely misinterpret. It's a beautiful song, and I'll continue giving it my own meaning. That's the beauty of art, innit?

I would have embedded the song here, for the ghosts of my once-followers, had I been any less lazy.