Three years later, a new girl sits cross-legged on your bed.
She tastes like a different flavor of bubblegum than you are used to.
She opens up a book that you had to read in high school, and a folded picture of us falls out of chapter three.
Now there are two unfinished stories resting in her lap.
Inevitably, she asks, and you tell her.
You say: I dated her a while back.
You don’t say: Sometimes, when I’m holding you, I imagine the smell of her vanilla perfume.
You say: She was younger than me.
You don’t say: The sixteen summers in her bones warmed the eighteen winters my skin had weathered.
You say: It’s nothing now.
You don’t say: But it was everything then.
honestly why are all these marauder’s era edits portraying them styled like they’re from the 50’s teddy boy era or something
really if they wore muggle clothes it’d be more like
Pretty much any compliment on my writing. My poetry is so important to me, and the fact that people that I’ve never met can love it so much is mindblowing.
Have we told him yet?
Does your smile reach your eyes again?
How many days has it been since your cheeks tasted tears?
How did you manage to keep going?
Do you regret it?