She’s got that type of smile, you know which one I’m talking about. The hint of which could make wars stop, make musicians write ballads in scrawled ink at three am, make poets get overwhelmingly sentimental.

Like now I suppose.

I know you don’t quite know the touch of my fingertips yet, but you know the colour of my heart, and I’m pretty sure that means more. Even so, I can’t wait to imprint fingerprints into the crooks of your knees, and find my place in between your bones.

One day, we’ll meet.

We’ll wake together, softly, not separated by pixels and connected by baited breath as I wonder how I ever became quite this lucky. I gained my luck when I met you, and I’ll avoid walking under ladders for the rest of my life if it means I get to keep you. 

I’m going to kiss you, not once, but more than a hundred times, each time different, but I’m still going to be in awe every time, because your lips taste like heaven and I’ve quite forgotten how to pray, but I feel closer to God every time you look at me.

I didn’t used to believe in fairies, but I’ve always believed in you.


   Sometimes I just sit up in the middle of the night
   or maybe in the midst of the day
   and touch the cracks that form on my cheeks from the smiles you bring.

   Cracks doesn’t seem accurate enough a word.

   Little lines
   and small quirks
   on the corners of my lips.

   They’re so strange, you know? I mean, it’s genuine, this reflection;
   of that I’m sure.
   I don’t recognize myself sometimes, staring back into the mirror, biting my lip, shaking my head and laughing at this girl in the mirror because
   I’m just - this - lucky

   And I’ve never been lucky before.
   Not with anyone
   Not just with anyone
   After all, hey, this is you we’re talking about.

  Defnitely not just anyone.

   So believe me when I say this, I’ve never honestly considered myself lucky in any fashion.

   But you’ve got me wishin’ on dandelions just to pause in mid-sentence
   pickin’ away at flower petals just to remember,
   ’Woah. Wait. She does love me.’
  and collectin’ four leaf clovers just to toss them away.
  ‘Cause hey, yeah, hi - I’m doing mighty fine. 

  And I don’t think you realize,
  but that’s not accurate either, because I really think you do
  but I’m gonna’ say this anyway
  I am so honestly
  in every fathomed angle that is your mystery,
  jipped-and-jaded-front-lines aside —
  in love with you.

  And it’s not even a thought anymore.
  It’s song lyrics
  and silences
  and crackedfadedlineperksofoursmiles.
   It’s little slumbers spent curled up by our webcams
   and it’s distance
   and it’s you.
   I’m in love, darlin’.
   And it is so unbelievably with


  They say that the search for happiness ends when you sit down, look up, and finally figure out that hey; it’s right beside you.

  Happiness quite literally sat beside me.
  On my laptop in the form of a little Skype messaging icon, Facebook Notification, friends request and update(s) on a certain little social networking site…

  …You get the picture.

  My happiness was found in the ‘Tom Felton’ tag of all places, on Tumblr, to start things off.
  Well not literally, but still.
  Tom Felton sorta’ started it all. Bless him.
  And roleplaying, online-roleplaying, that too.

  But anywho, I’m just sort of giddy at the moment because I am happy.
  Not that I haven’t been before.
  But relationship wise? 
  Oh hum-bug, I have a track record that would scare off any intelligent life form seeking any self-preservation within a four Planet radius (Maybe five, who knows).
  I’m just really, really happy.
  And I’m not questioning it for once. I’m letting it be.
  Because this girl, she’s got something about her.
  She’s always been the topic of conversation with me even when I hadn’t meant her to be. Even though she was an ocean away.
  I’m (kindasortaobviouslyverymuchso) convinced I’ve loved her for a while.
  My brain just has this funky way of processing emotions, you see.
  But I have a girlfriend.
  And she just gets me.
  Gets all the funk and crazy junk stored up in my nonsensical noggin’.
  And she makes me happy.
  And she falls asleep with me on webcam and listens to my 3AM delirium and just sort of humors the quirkiness that is all of me.
  She’s all I could have ever asked for.
  And then some. 
  So I mean, I’m in this weird little content zone for the time being and I’m focusing on the here and the now and it’s all been…good.
  I’m terrible with these touchy-feely-emotional-doo-bobs, my apologies.
  My girlfriend just makes me blush like an idiot, okay?
  ‘My girlfriend’.
  I like the sound of that.


So I’m kind of…’back’?

That doesn’t sound right.
I went away for a while.
Oh lord, that doesn’t sound right either.

I checked myself into this behavioral health facility, you see. For Bulimia Nervosa and Self-harm.
And I got out about, erm, three weeks ago?
I’ve just been gathering myself for the time being, I guess.
I’m trying to catch up, but hell so much has changed. 
A lot has happened.
That’s an understatement.

Then again, what isn’t?
Anywho, hi, I’m alive.
I’ll try to make that a heavier statement for what it’s worth.

— Shared November 25 with 1 note


I’ve been cursed
I’ve been crossed
I’ve been beaten by the ones that get me off

I’ve been cut
I’ve been opened up
I’ve been shattered by the one’s I thought I loved 

I’ve been cold in the crypt
but not as cold as the words across your lips
You’ll be sorry baby,
when you reach across the bed where my body used to lay



Mirror, Mirror on the wall
who is the fairest
of them

 We were alike in appearance and standing.
 We should have been, no doubt. Konrad was my twin, my other half, the identical face of a coin unmatched by any other. He was as much mine as I was his.

  We were alike.

  My fingers, however, disagreed with the thought. I let the calloused flesh, still but sixteen years young, run themselves over the translucent pale body beneath their touch. Crimson rivulets remained from my newest endeavour against my own body, dotting my flesh and staining the prints of my fingers as they travelled down; pulled by gravity. The mirror before me never lied. My digits told no tales. Konrad and I were alike, yes, identical obviously; but we would never be equals. I took it upon myself to remind this body, to remind myself, of that every single night.

  I was marred in comparison to the flawless nature of my brother—of Konrad. The slits against my ribs rose and fell with every breath. I could see the pink and white nerves beneath my paled canvas stretch. I could see lines old and new merge. I could see—and my fingers could feel—every imperfection.

  The razor I had used remained teetering on the edge of my night stand. A large red streak remained on its edge in the dark candlelight I left flickering.
  Fathers blades were always wearing and tearing, he would not miss it much. It was sleek, fierce, forged with the surname ‘Frankenstein’ in its hilt: it was perfect. It was mine.

  The sinking lines of my ribcage caught my eye then, made me sicken and sway. I was a fragile figment then. To many who sought me out, viewed me—I could be anything but. Loud, obnoxious, confident in all categories…but now? In the face of my own reflection? I was not even worth the edge of my blade. I was selfish to think myself enough. Selfish.

  My outstretched palm gripped tightly to the edge of my standing vanity. My vision hazed for a moment and the bile in my gut rose to burn at my throat. Arms were around me then, familiar and strong. Strong, opposing, fitted and perfect.

“You’re alright, Victor.” The voice cooed, stinging the drying crimson at my sides  as they ground against them.

“Leave me!” I insisted through gritted teeth, facing away from the voice, from the words and false promise it left me with. Breath met my shoulder, shuddered, soft, inviting… “Leave me, Konrad, please.” I choked back the sob welled in the depth of my chest. “Leave-“

“You always were so persistent,” His voice ignored my own, a smile on his lips—my lips in mimic—as they pressed gently against the curve of my neck. “Futile in your searches so, even I must admit.” Laughter then, quiet.

  We were alike.
  We were so different.
  Why did we fit?
  Why did we have to fit?

“Futile…” I seethed, shaking my head; hiding the smile my own features forced to betray on my face. “Against you.”

  Konrad smirked then, breath warm against my ear. “And I, you. Always you, Victor.” 



  I like us like this.

  My fingers tangled in your long dark waves, your hands around my hips, pulling me closer and closer still—even in your slumber; our limbs tangled up in sheets we could barely afford. On a bed we’d insisted upon blowing my very first pay-check on. 
  I’ll never mind that.
  Best two hundred bucks I’ve ever spent, I’ll say.
  Because I get to hold you like this. Every night. Every fuckin’ night and even though we’re away from home; away from Allen and Adelia and all the other cool cats down in Greyson Oke’s—I’m home. I’m finally home and it’s more than enough. I’ve got you.
  It’s way more than enough.

  You snore in your sleep, did you know that? Just kidding. You sound more like a rabbit when you sleep. All little sniffles and soft murmurs and little shifting twitches. I can’t help but laugh a bit each night at that. It’s so you, Sky. It’s so you that it seems im-freakin’-possible.
  Oh god, you’d kill me if I ever mentioned it. Hell, maybe I will. I’d like to see that blush hit your cheeks. I’d like to kiss it, hold it, run my calloused fingers across it. 
  Maybe I’ll mention it, huh?
  The summer has been cruel in more ways then one. First off, this damned flat is going to cook us alive. I’ve been sweating and pantin’ like a dog straight through the night—and not for the obvious reasons—I should be on fire with you beside me. I am, on the inside, but it’s a fire I crave. Your body beside my own, sweat slicked in the air. Beneath the sheets.
  Sky, you’ve always smelled of spice, tasted of heat and cinnamon.  Maybe even pumpkin. You sometimes taste like a sweet ol’ pumpkin’ pie. Like Allen used to make down at the diner.
  Or maybe it’s because I just really like pumpkin pie. But I guess you taste better than pumpkin pie, hmm? I guess. ahaha.

  You make another soft murmur. I brush your hair back and tuck it behind your ear. I kiss the corner of your lips as you breathe, wanting to capture those little noises in my own breath.
  A spicy pumpkin pie, Sky, that’s how ya’ taste. The best kinda’ pie.
  My Sky. 
  Oh god. It must be the heat gettin’ to me. Must be my brain cookin’ beneath these sheets. You draw closer to my neck, snuggle there. Breathe a warm breath there.
  It should be too much but I stroke your side and I lean into that touch.

  Maybe I’m baked, maybe I’m fuckin’ losin’ it on some crazy love-bug level.
  Maybe I’m in love.
  That’s it, Sky. I’m in love.
  With you.
  I kiss your temple and you sniffle, you pull me tighter and I laugh a bit then at your rabbit noises.

  I’ve always been in love with you, Sky.
  And in this heat, with your spice fillin’ the air, with my musk mingling in the sheets and the very esscence’a us clouding the room—I’m not scared of it.

  I’m in love.
  Would ya’ look at that. 

© T H E M E