Can’t Believe Jane Austen Wrote Pride And Prejudice In The 2000s

desperation

A word we borrowed from Latin.

de (without) + sperare (to hope)

forming a word that I'm getting more familiar

with each passing day.

Desperation: to lose hope.

Losing you would be to lose hope,

Because that is what you brought into my life.

That is what you are.

A hope.

A hope that, in your eyes, I'm worthy of love.

A hope that loving someone could feel so easy.

A hope that loving you is a feeling of warm yellow light.

My days pass without being next to you

And each day, that warm yellow light dims a little.

The flowers that slowly bloom in my lungs

when your hands touch me

slowly start to wither without their light.

I feel my heart gradually freeze

into a block of ice

that doesn't melt without your warmth.

Desperation

starts to creep into me with every breath I take.

So my dearest,

I urge you to come,

to hold me until the winter in my heart thaws,

touch me and bring back the spring.

Harry: are you taken?

Draco: Yeah, for granted

Shit Slytherins Say: #254

Ok no offense, but some of us *looks pointedly at self in mirror* need to fucking chill

july 15 // incinerate

Sunshine In Disguise 🌤

Standing in the middle of a crowd

struggling to find my sound

I put my heart on a silver platter,

every wound unbound.

Endlessly wanting to do furthermore,

to feel a sense of belonging.

Until one day, I was worn out

wishing for an exemption from that longing.

It took me ages to comprehend

that it takes only one soul

willing to give you a corner of their heart,

to pull you out of that black hole.

Someone who'll sit with you

until you're ready to talk.

Someone you can hold on to

until you're ready to walk.

They'll give you an unfeigned smile,

the one that reaches their eyes.

And that is how you'll know

that's your sunshine in disguise.

💫🧡

“Whatever causes night in your soul may leave stars.”

— Victor Hugo

endearments in letters to véra

Harry Styles / Two Ghosts

HANDS.

Why did we collectively agree

that love is stored in our hearts?

Why did no one stand up to argue

that love is within the other person's hands?

Trust me not?

Palm on your forehead late at night,

Checking your temperature.

A reassuring hand on your knee

When you're shaking with anxiety.

A grip around your wrists

While crossing the road.

Calloused fingers suddenly soft

While brushing tears off your cheeks.

Protective arm around your shoulders

when all you want is to lean.

Brush of fingers while passing a dish

Over the dinner table.

I'll cease to exist

When my heart stops beating

But I'll give you that letter with scrawly writings

Only when you pry it from my cold, dead hands.

For a second or two

Sometimes I fall in love with strangers,

For a second or two or some more.

Not for the thrill or dangers,

For the kindness, simplicity, and whatnots.

That someone on a park bench

Petting a random dog,

And then someone by the swing

Helping a kid back to her feet.

That someone at the next table

Smiling genuinely at the waiter,

And then someone at the handwash

Holding the door for an old woman.

I fall in love with strangers,

A second for how they look,

Two for their generous smile,

And some more for the random act of kindness.

The universe conspires you around such strangers

At that particular point in time out of all.

Because kindness conjures love.

Even if it's from a stranger.

A stranger,

Who will stop what they're doing

To fall in love with you.

For a second or two or some more.