Things I know about James Potter
._.
i. I hated him.
Not that I voluntarily admit to any connection between us, there is no relationship let alone a spark.
And if you've seen any muggle cinema you'd know all about the spark. As much as you would like to imagine your worlds separate, no matter his wizarding upbringing, you'd wager even he knows about the spark.
ii. There was no spark between us
Naturally, if anyone asked I would say, 'Between us? Not a chance.'
Naturally, I wouldn't be lying.
A glance at him produced
not just a spark, surely
something wholly consuming
would only be insulted
by silly contrived phrasing
iii. A glance at him would spread wildfire through my forest.
I almost laugh out loud.
(Of the nervous and self-deprecating variety, so you'd better not)
I almost burst into tears.
(Of the steady and quiet variety, honestly worse…maybe laughing isn't so bad)
iv. He was too bloody much.
Good and bad, nice yet cruel
Cool and confident, funny although serious
Caricature and so very real
(nothing but really thing.)
v. He was so much that it was overwhelming and it burned to watch him contradict himself.
(Okay you know this is like iv. and it doesn't really warrant another bullet point)
It felt wrong to slightly, even hypothetically, want him
so of course I didn't.
I don't, not really.
vi. Have I mentioned I hate him?
(But at the same time it never stopped feeling
like if you just tried, closed your eyes, breathed him in,
it could feel (so) right.
But of course, you knew none of this.)
If anyone would ask…
All I knew was
He shouldn't be pining for me.
He shouldn't be asking me out so often.
He shouldn't look at me like I'm his.
He shouldn't act like he wants to marry me.
He shouldn't tell his friends that I'm it for him.
He really, really shouldn't.
(But he does.)
Smooth wood scrapes against sandpaper
produces friction, heat, and fire.
A stick tossed in a forest
burnt defenses you didn't know you had.
He pulls out a matchbox,
recounting his dull adventures with glee
He asks, obliviously, "Will you go out with me, Evans?"
Lily, muggle in another life,
can't remember the last time magic didn't light you a fire.
James, conflagration on her campsite,
doesn't even know who he is.
She says no.
(Most days you're not sure you do either.)
._.
/What is this format, you ask? idek Plz forgive me. I feel like this style was popular when I wrote this
(Written in Jan '11, revised Apr '11. Finally deciding to upload things I wrote ages ago)/