Rose/Scorpius is beautiful and none of you hoes can tell me otherwise.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own this and you aren't realy hoes. Love you all, by the way.
"run away with me,"
she whispers
and okay, you might be a little bit
in love.
but you can't, sweetie
not when you wear the family name
like a burden
and not like a prize.
she has her name written on the stars
and you,
poor little you
will be forgotten by tomorrow morning.
bubblegum pink
and neon signs
she's now a princess
living in a dream.
"i can't, rose
i wish i could"
she leaves that night
and you stare at the empty walls of a shared dorm.
quiddich and classes
and sometimes a bottle of vodka
you're fading into black
and you're not seventeen yet.
it's like one of those old movies
that your mother used to love
you're black and white, all mystery
and little to no sound.
you wonder, sometimes,
how she's doing
sweet eighteen, she must be ready
to conquer the whole world.
but meanwhile you study and study
and train; head buried in a thousand books
and you graduate, of course
but it feels strange.
ten years down the road,
champagne on your hand
and emptiness in your chest,
the world starts making sense again.
ROSE WEASLEY, THE CRIMSON QUEEN
WATCH TONIGHT THE NEW
UNDER LONDON RAIN
and there she is.
she was destined for neon signs
shouting her name
and a dozen roses as red as her hair
in her hands.
you leave a solitary note
"you were great, as always –s.m."
and leave so fast
that you can pretend you never were there.
because she's a delicate rose
(oh, you could write sonnets about her name
and her hair)
and you're only
a wizard, someone that doesn't really exist,
a poisonous scorpion.
and maybe you two
weren't really made to be together.