#astereia

[infnities]

a single breath, stretched between now and infinity. this is what exists in the void i hold here in cracked and peeling hands. thin and blown apart, a whispered eulogy to who i never was, who i could have been. and my hands are too bony, too weak, as i have always been; the breath falls through, as it always has.

ad perpetuam rei memoriam : p.v.s.

[pushkins]

He is not the Hufflepuff he should be.

He knows it when he wakes in the morning to his unwelcoming reflection; his features that give away the unkindness in his soul. And it is entrenched deep in him, a vicious sense of self preservation, a vibrant green jealousy that would be at home in the Slytherin dungeons, a spiteful disdain for his own house.

He knows that he falls short of being what he ought to be.

However, that said, he is perfectly suited to the quidditch team — he supposes everyone on it has a little bit more bite to them than the rest of their house, their natures just a little harder beneath the soft veneer.

He had wondered, a long time ago, if he was the only exception but his first game in that locker room he knew. The shared rueful smiles too wide to be genuine: too daring, too ambitious, too hungry to be like the rest of their house.

Zachariah Smith is not the Hufflepuff he should be. He finds a vindictive pleasure to know he's not the only one.

—  || Eliot C. || @quidditchleaguenet ||☕||

[wildqueenling]

st. lawrence christmas market | december 2016

[literateure]

adventures in santana row! 3.10.17

[infnities]

we were the cherry blossom children left folded between the pages of a yellowing book buried in your backyard and you've forgotten, this i know, but the sickly sweet odor still tinges my dreams on cold winter nights when i try to remember who you used to be.

tell me what happens after ‘the end’ : p.v.s.

[infnities]

this is my heart in a box on your doorstep; it’s your shaking fingers carrying it to the attic, burying it where no one will ever find it again; where you will never find it again. this is the sun coming up behind your face, casting you in shadow; the chiaroscuro of features not quite matured. this is us, back to back, a study in agony; a study in perfection.

youth. / p.v.s.

[infnities]

this is ripped up pieces of paper that you left in my notebook, the sweatshirt you left in my washer because you said it reminded you of stagnancy. walk with me here, on this lane of rotting memories, tell me why you were always breathless.

confessions to a living ghost #1 : p.v.s.

[infnities]

this is frostbite. when i first told you, you shrugged and smiled and handed me your hot chocolate as if it would help. i took your hands in mine, and they were freezing. this is frostbite. i swallowed snowflakes on your tongue like cider, and my heart crystallized, all blue and silver. you touched my cheek, fire against ice, life against something too far gone to be death. this is frostbite. your hands cupping brittle skin, waiting for a flicker of warmth, a breath of life. my throat is stuffed with snow packed together too thick, too much, and now i’m breathless.

i found winter in your kiss : p.v.s.