Post by grey scale: on Dec 5, 2011 21:43:47 GMT -5
Well Lily Luna Potter has that i n n o c e n t little boy wrapped around her finger like the green ribbon in her hair – he always was the flexible one, always bendingbendingbending until he almost broke in two for her. Her fire red hair and brown eyes and I-know-you-are-but-what-am-I? attitude just bring people in (closerclosercloser) and she keeps them. She uses them. And they fly away like used tissues she didn’t have the gall or glory to keep by her side any longer.
Except, there’s this little thing – you know, it’s him. She laughs at him because he’s funny (oh-so-hilarious) but soft-spoken and quiet, and she can’t seem to take her eyes off of him when he does that blushing thing. (White and pink and cheeks and smiles, she’ll swear up and down that’s all the boy is.)
And when he talks he’s just so interested and he tells her everything and nobody else does it like he does. She doesn’t say a word (quite a feat, let her tell you) the entire time and he talks and talks (talktalktalk) the night away until they’re both asleep and they’re late for class and they get detention. (All the teachers say is ‘blah, blah, blah’ and they just roll their eyes because all they care about is each other and those teachers just don’t g e t it.)
Summer nights are h o t and filled with water and starlight and moons and open promises sparkling like his blueblueblue gorgeous eyes (she’s just so lost without them) and she wouldn’t trade them for all the galleons in Gringott’s and those really cute shoes at Jezzebelle’s that her friends are all talking about. She loses track of all these things, the things she should be wanting, when all she’s ever wanted recently is him and he knows it.
Christmas comes and she sees that blue-wrapped present underneath the tree and she wonders how he got it there (she never did believe in Santa Clause) but it’s there every year, the same blue as his eyes and the Grecian water she always wanted to see and those skies in the country she was always oh-so-envious of, just floatingfloatingfloating away with clouds of cotton and scents of fresh linens in spring breezes and those apples trees down the way.
When he tells her he l o v e s her she doesn’t believe him (oh-but-she-does) and she rolls her eyes and he laughs because he knows what she’s doing and he knows she l o v e s him too (but she was never one to kiss and tell and really, she was never one to tell him her feelings, either) and they hug and kiss but it ends and they have to leave because, damn that Sorting Hat, Ravenclaws and Slytherins weren’t all that different after all.
At the end of the day, Lysander knows that she’s the firecracker and the one with the strength and the passion (the firelight, blazingblazingblazing down a trail) but he’s the one with the p o w e r because she’s just head-over-heels in l o v e and she can’t do a thing about it. And maybe she just doesn’t wanna. Because you know, Lily Luna Potter was never the un-stubborn one. And he loves every second of her.
Except, there’s this little thing – you know, it’s him. She laughs at him because he’s funny (oh-so-hilarious) but soft-spoken and quiet, and she can’t seem to take her eyes off of him when he does that blushing thing. (White and pink and cheeks and smiles, she’ll swear up and down that’s all the boy is.)
And when he talks he’s just so interested and he tells her everything and nobody else does it like he does. She doesn’t say a word (quite a feat, let her tell you) the entire time and he talks and talks (talktalktalk) the night away until they’re both asleep and they’re late for class and they get detention. (All the teachers say is ‘blah, blah, blah’ and they just roll their eyes because all they care about is each other and those teachers just don’t g e t it.)
Summer nights are h o t and filled with water and starlight and moons and open promises sparkling like his blueblueblue gorgeous eyes (she’s just so lost without them) and she wouldn’t trade them for all the galleons in Gringott’s and those really cute shoes at Jezzebelle’s that her friends are all talking about. She loses track of all these things, the things she should be wanting, when all she’s ever wanted recently is him and he knows it.
Christmas comes and she sees that blue-wrapped present underneath the tree and she wonders how he got it there (she never did believe in Santa Clause) but it’s there every year, the same blue as his eyes and the Grecian water she always wanted to see and those skies in the country she was always oh-so-envious of, just floatingfloatingfloating away with clouds of cotton and scents of fresh linens in spring breezes and those apples trees down the way.
When he tells her he l o v e s her she doesn’t believe him (oh-but-she-does) and she rolls her eyes and he laughs because he knows what she’s doing and he knows she l o v e s him too (but she was never one to kiss and tell and really, she was never one to tell him her feelings, either) and they hug and kiss but it ends and they have to leave because, damn that Sorting Hat, Ravenclaws and Slytherins weren’t all that different after all.
At the end of the day, Lysander knows that she’s the firecracker and the one with the strength and the passion (the firelight, blazingblazingblazing down a trail) but he’s the one with the p o w e r because she’s just head-over-heels in l o v e and she can’t do a thing about it. And maybe she just doesn’t wanna. Because you know, Lily Luna Potter was never the un-stubborn one. And he loves every second of her.