honey, your soul could never grow old. @syrhup - Tumblr Blog

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#15/2/2016 #filter through God

Gryffindors are bright mornings, leaves dripping in gold. They’re the trailblazers, unafraid of the road ahead. They’re laughing so loud your stomach hurts, the knowledge that your friends are right behind you wherever you go. They’re ice skating with someone you love, clinging on to them for dear life. They’re make-believe games with quests and dragons and swords pointing at the sky. They’re rosy cheeks, winter winds and freezing hands. They’re the adrenaline when a plane takes off, the drop at the top of a rollercoaster. They’re delighted screams and freedom, the wind through your hair. They’re panting, pillow fights, feathers bursting into the air. They’re finger painting and festivals and burning sunsets. They’re the burn in your lung after chasing something you’ll never be able to catch.

Hufflepuffs are honey and flowers and the soft autumn sun. They’re knitted jumpers and scarves and soft tan boots. They’re fresh air and nature, the sound of birds singing. They’re rolling down a hill in the spring, grass stains on your knees, daisy chains in your hair. They’re waving at someone across a crowded room, bright smiles and laughter. They’re coming home after a long day and seeing your family. They’re playing fetch with your dog, your cat weaving between your feet. They’re fluffy socks and song birds and kraft notebooks with hand drawn patterns. They’re throw cushions on a bed, a tiny cottage surrounded by wilderness. They’re the ground beneath your feet, the air that you breathe. They’re the light you chase when you thought you’d never see the morning.

Ravenclaws are leather bound books and overstocked libraries. They’re waking up at two am to google that thing that’s bugging you. They’re journals with half the words crossed out, scribbles and ink stains and missing pages. They’re stretching when you’ve been hunched over all day, rolling off the edge of a bed, burrowing in blankets. They’re torch light and held breaths and reverent whispers. They’re the entire night sky and everything beyond it; the embodiment of the universe. They’re desperate searches and hidden castles and ghost stories by firelight. They’re the mystery of a dark corridor, the force of a whirlwind. They’re the excitement of discovery, the rustle of crunched up paper. They’re the last whisper before you fall asleep.

Slytherins are foggy hillsides and picturesque landscapes. They’re hand written love notes and subtle glances across a classroom. They’re black boots, long coats, buttons done up to the top. They’re tipping your head back to breathe the air, kicking up stones on a deserted path. They’re mirrored lakes, everything below the surface. They’re the confidence to get something right, the feel of magic in your fingertips. They’re holding your breath underwater, pretending to be a mermaid when you swim. They’re finding that one song that makes you want to create a storm. They’re the chill in the breeze, the force in the tide. They’re enchanted forests and lingering glances and long drives. They’re the lightning and the thunder and everything in between.

vinstage

chronicallyinvisible

i was thinking the other day that when you’re chronically ill life can become entirely about your illness and it almost feels like there’s no room for anything else. like life is meant to be multi-faceted, when you’re able-bodied it can be about having kids and getting a degree and holding down a 9-5 job and trying out lots of different hobbies and falling in love with someone and traveling the world, and none of those things cancels out the other. but when you’re chronically ill the illness can become this overarching thing to the point where you’re literally unable to see any of that other stuff, and it feels like life is just about being sick. but it’s like, where do you draw the line?

life can’t just be about being a sick person, but it also can’t not be when you have a chronic illness, and it’s so hard to stop seeing yourself just as that sick person and start allowing yourself to be a mother or a university student or an office worker or a traveller or a concert-goer or a husband or a socialite, because it’s constantly in the back of your mind that you are sick and you always need to be considerate of that. finding that balance between your health and the person you’d like to be or the life you’d like to have is so, so hard

mmarkle

a concept: me, finally deleting my blog. slowly, the toxins absorbed from the hours spent on this hell-site leave my body. my pores shrink, my teeth whiten, and my brows thicken. the bees are safe, and i am at peace.