AC: Found this on my Ipad notes and just quickly finished. It's both bad and good but sincerely I am quite tired right now to properly revise it... I just arrived at my Hotel yesterday and found WIFI in a small coffe shop right next here. I hope you like it?
"Happiness is what happens when you go to bed on the hottest night of the summer, a night so hot you can't even wear a tee-shirt and you sleep on top of the sheets instead of under them, although try to sleep is probably more accurate. And then at some point late, late, late at night, say just a bit before dawn, the heat finally breaks and the night turns into cool and when you briefly wake up, you notice that you're almost chilly, and in your groggy, half-consciousness, you reach over and pull the sheet around you and just that flimsy sheet makes it warm enough and you drift back off into a deep sleep. And it's that reaching, that gesture, that reflex we have to pull what's warm - whether it's something or someone - toward us, that feeling we get when we do that, that feeling of being sad in the world and ready for sleep, that's happiness." Paul Schimdtberger
When he touched you, the skin of your arm became metal wires, and your blood exploded with electricity.
It was just a brush of fingers - he passed you a piece of parchment - but suddenly your bones were awake; you couldn't even control the orbes that were your eyes, widening along with the apple-colored frame people called eyelashes, curling and curling and curling until they almost touched the sky. He noticed it too - his gold stars beamed and closed, keeping the one second forever.
- Lily? Lily! - His feet ran, ran into your direction, and the loud noise echoing at the castle could be heard over the moon. - Hey, wait.
- What? - You spit the word, half nervous, half trying to run away from that feeling. It's a scary feeling, the feeling of being paralyzed over something; wanting to kiss the eyelids of a human being you barely met, even though you know them, even tough your soul screams to own their clockwork-metal heart.
- You forgot your notes at the class. - He handles them to you, and you reach the tip of the paper; but somehow, against all reasons, your wrist bathes agains his hand.
- Thank you. - Your voice comes out cracked, rusky, broken. Before he can say anything at all, you turn around and leave.
You are
in love?
It's wonderful and poetic and disgusting, this feeling that makes random words spit out of the nostrils of your nose. It's like a thunderstorm - water and lightining bolts and wind, all of them changing your direction, all of them - all of him - blinding and confusing you.
You are
in love.
There is no denying it. You were in love since the first moment you saw her - red long hair and crumbling knees, all linked together by metal wires made of stars. You were in love since she snorted at you and you were in love still when she screamed at the top of her lungs. And you were in love when she was lonely and fragile after Snape being a dick and you are in love now that she is healing and healed.
She is drizzle in a sunny day, flowers in the middle of a forest, crumpled paper in the hands of an artist.
- James? - Her voice is soft and unsure, shy as tea in a cup. You adjust yourself a little - put down the book you are reading - and look at her.
- Yes?
- I, hum, am having a problem with Transfiguration. Mcgonagall said that you were her best student - oh, please, don't look so baffled - and asked wether you could help me. I know you are, hum, always busy - This earns a side glance from her emerald eyes to your book - But I really need it.
- C'om here. - You unfold your legs (and also your heart) and motion to her to sit at the Common's room couch by your side. When you notice her suprised stare, laughs bubbles on your throat. - You didn't think I would help you?
- Actually, no. - But she sits by your side anyway, too far away with her stack of books and freckled nose and oh-so-kissable mouth.
- So... Where do you want to start?
It's five in the morning and you two are snuggled up half asleep and it's so warm and she fits in your arms like a bird in it's nest.
You fit right beside her like hands in a piano, like hot chocolate in winter, like pumpkin in halloween. Her hands play in your tights, and you feel like a shiny, old looking trumpet, humming your favorite song just like a whisper.
When she touches you the skin of your arm melt, and you forget about your how you function at all.