th to

an amateur writer. i also write on twitter and fanfiction and also wattpad and wordpress. follow my book adventure on goodreads.

[blackhippogriff]

Inspired by this tweet, attached to which is a beautiful photo.

Here’s a poem to the people who have had to (and are stilling having to) deal with dragons like the ones with the names of Haiyan, of Harvey, of Mangkhut, of Florence and various others in recent years. To those who have lived through squirm of the unnamed snakes that shook the ground and the seas. To those whose lives were swept away by water. To all of us who will be facing more in the future.

Look at the orange ribbons Like clementine juice dissolving In bubbling blue bands of sky Oh, what a sight! It’s summer and your drink is iced Like slushies – or as they call it, a blizzard Why? Why a blizzard? Such refreshments lack the intensity Such a sky lacks the intensity Right? No. Clementine came with a swirling dragon The closer to its eye, the more violent It whips its tail and trees fall over Houses fall apart, and streets become rivers It’s nature’s dragon And it’s not alone Its friends wreaking havoc across the world Meanwhile, their snake brethren are writhing beneath the earth Shaking its core and so cracking our roads The orange breaths of nature’s wrath May seem like a beauty But don’t be misled Can’t you see it looks a bit fiery? Once green and blue, the eye had turned red Through smoke and heat, we wish we had heeded it

[the-book-diaries]

“Words are, in my not-so-humble opinion, our most inexhaustible source of magic. Capable of both inflicting injury, and remedying it.”

— J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

[blackhippogriff]

A much-needed reminder.

[blackhippogriff]

Yet

So I am yet to look you in the eyes I’m afraid that I never will  And yet about them is all I can fantasize  They must be outstanding  But somehow you don’t think likewise Somehow you want to snuff out their lights Somehow you won’t mind if they die  You just want to jump off Fall to fly freely for a brief while And forever be a fantasy to me 

Because even like this - from a distance  The distance of land and screens Your eyes are drawing me in  I’m engulfed by second-hand smoke Not for me and yet so inviting I should not hold you  I could not even if I wanted to  But stay there, don’t go  Because if it’s not me there’ll be someone else Yet to come Those eyes deserve to be held Admired and loved above all else So don’t fall, and don’t let go Remember that you are bulletproof  You’ll fly high when it’s time

It is that helpless feeling where I know I make no impact to a person who is so far away, physically, socially and emotionally, and who needs to be reminded that his or her life is worth so much - that is the feeling that frustrates me the most. 

The thing about the social media is that. There are people - inspiring, beautiful people who can now share their lives with us on these pages. Of course, they do it selectively. They show the positive side of things, not the hardships and frustrations that they struggle through. But by all means, it makes us feel closer to them, as if we know them. We think of them as someone who goes along with us in our lives, and we think we follow their every step as well. Friends. Only to one day realise that we don’t know one another. They don’t even know of our existence. It’s all part of their job, it’s a strategy to make us love them. It’s an industry.

And it’s heartbreaking.

[blackhippogriff]

The more I imagine a warm hand enclosing itself around mine, the colder it gets.

[blackhippogriff]

Am I alone when I say I love being busy? I love it because it gives me a sense of purpose.

It gives me things to do instead just floating down an endless pit where the only thing I could hear is my voice, questioning myself, wondering if anyone cared.

[blackhippogriff]

To do nothing is often the best course of action. But history was not made by those who did nothing.

The Crown’s Queen Elizabeth

I’ve just watched The Crown’s season 2 trailer! (Twice!) Too excited!

[alaskaisnothere]

Is it art if I write a book and no one reads it? Is it love if he doesn’t know? Life is a collection of experiences and we feel like that experience isn’t real if it isn’t shared with someone. Maybe that’s why we are so obsessed with likes and followers. But even if no one knows about you, I assure you, you are real and valid and your life is worth living.

giulswrites (via giulswrites)

[blackhippogriff]

There were moments - days - painted a decaying gray when I hated you. I hated how the time passed so slowly - how full of nothing time with you was. I hated the feeling of being held back.

Although, I do I have doubts about those moments. My inability to move, the obligation to stay that anchored me against the currents of my joy held me back and enclosed me in a veil of contempt. I doubt I truly hated you with all that swirled within.

However, I have not a single shred of dubiety that I never loved you, not even for the briefest second. And I'm glad to finally be able to let go.

[alittlelessclueless-deactivated]

Even when you get tired of failing,

always commend yourself for trying.

Win or lose,

you’d still be a warrior.

You may not be the victor in the battle,

But you are the victor over your fears.

@alittlelessclueless

[blackhippogriff]

She looked for months for the bridge. She had no idea what it looked like, she merely knew, vaguely, through the mist that covered the whole terrain, that there was something better on the other side. Everyone seemed to have found it, and crossed it, but she alone looked longingly from her barren wasteland over, searched relentlessly for a bridge that would take her to a different place. 

She couldn’t find that connection between the two lands for a long time. The closest she ever got to the other side was this patch of land that stuck out, stubbornly hanging itself over the abyss below and reaching for the other side. Once she realised what it was, she came back frequently, hoping to catch a glimpse of the green grass awaiting those who found the bridge, of the shining sky and the glimmering mountains. 

Several times, the fog cleared, and she began to make out the shapes of this better land. The grass was green all right, but not vivaciously engulfing the surface of the earth, and didn’t have golden dew clinging to its delicate tufts. The sky didn’t shine so much as it blared, thickening the air and slowly depriving the grass of its life source. The mountains stood like shards in the horizon, brusque and looming over all below. The other side wasn’t so appealing any more. 

So she forgot about it. She was content with the barren land she had. She was finding new people who didn’t make it, and she was doing good when the bridge opened itself up to her. All this time she looked for it, and just as she stopped, it found its way to her. That day the fog blanketed all sides, and she was reminded of the image her mind drew of the other side. It was glorious, it was desirable, but she knew it wasn’t reality. 

And she walked away from the bridge.

[thatgirlwhowanders]

Don’t read like children, for diversion, nor for instruction, like ambitious persons; no, read it in order to live.

Gustave Flaubert (via thatgirlwhowanders)

[blackhippogriff]

Can you hear it?

A voice murmuring in its solitude, humming in silence, screaming in a vacuum?

Can you not hear it?

Is there a switch that you can flick to leave the voice out, hanging, unheard, so that it can speak the words you so dislike to itself?

Can you not hear my voice?

[alaskaisnothere]

You are chasing a butterfly in a world where butterflies don’t exist anymore. You wanted it for so long that it became real in your head but you don’t realise that you are caught in a dream and you are losing your grip on reality.

giulswrites (via giulswrites)

[blackhippogriff]

He smoked like a chimney: within two days, a pack of cigarette could be emptied. It’s true that he had a habit of quenching his cigarettes half-way, nonetheless, the piercing smell of tobacco followed every where he went, and fell out of every one of his breath.

She didn’t like it, of course. She’d withstand the pungent wisps for him but too many times she had told him to stop. “It’ll kill you one day,” she told him, and to that threw his head back a little, looked down his nose at her challengingly and muttered: “So let it.”

He sounded like an artist with a cigarette lit in between his fingers, with his nonchalant smile and with that poetic attitude. He sounded like he was a composer, a bohemian traveller whose life is romanticised as the journey to seek true and inner beauty. But he wasn’t. He was a second-year Marketing university student when she first met him, and by now he’d graduated. His smoking only exacerbated with time even when she expected to persuade him to quit.

And then there was the cannabis. He smoked that, too. He’s addicted to it. Once in a while, when he hadn’t had one in a long time, he would start pulling his hair out, unconsciously. He lied to his parents and friends when they asked: “Why is there a bold patch on your head?” Or maybe he didn’t lie explicitly; he merely answered them with a smile. She knew it was driving them mad. She knew they brought him to a medical check to make sure. And she knew he obstinately refuse to tell them the truth even though they knew.

She knew it was tearing her apart seeing him wear away. He seemed to be denying it, because he refused to talk about it. It was as if saying it, declaring that he was an addict would somehow make the act true, even though it already was true. She thought it was because he didn’t want to be an addict, that he wanted help but didn’t know how to ask for it, so he kept it all to himself. He probably never imagined that he would turn out like this.

She began to bite her nails again recently, because he was distancing himself. From her, from his friends and family. Instead he surrounded himself with the smoke that was ceaselessly clouding his vision. He kept smoking like a chimney.

[blackhippogriff]

Colours changing hue// morning fields of amber grain// weathered faces lined with pain// are soothed beneath the artist's loving hand

- Don McLean's Vincent (Starry, Starry Night)

Here is the after effect of watching Loving Vincent, a truly beautiful movie.

[allhailthemightyquattro]

10 Scenes: Series Seven

“Joining us?”

The Doctor, the Widow and the Wardrobe

[blackhippogriff]

Watching this on a chilly October day and then wondering why I'm crying

[atalienart]

Lupin & Tonks