Alexander Woke Early; He Had Left The Window Open, And Fragrant Pear Blossoms Were Now Floating In And
Alexander woke early; he had left the window open, and fragrant pear blossoms were now floating in and depositing themselves on his face and chest. He thought of yesterday evening and smiled, picking up the little, white flowers one by one and dropping them onto the floor of his room. He stood up and dressed quickly. He picked up his bookbag and nearly ran out the door, but stopped to fuss over his hair, blowing in the spring breeze that came in from the half-open window. He gave up and went down the stairs, skipping every other step. With his bag carelessly flung over his shoulder, he started walking towards the South Meadow, breathing in the sweet air. He hadn’t realised how he felt towards Theo, not now, not yet. All he did was smile and look at the clouds running their slow race across the sky. Before he knew it, Theo fell into step beside him. He kept smiling.
“Good morning, Alexander.” Hearing his name on Theo’s lips awoke him from his reverie.
“Morning,” he said, suppressing his smile so that only the left corner of his mouth turned upwards.
They walked in silence for a bit, passing the few boys that were awake at this early hour. Alexander noticed the way Theo’s curls fell onto his forehead, the way his eyebrows scrunched up and his lips parted slightly when he seemed to be thinking about something, the way he examined Alexander’s face when he thought he couldn't tell. Their eyes met more than once, sweet moments of horror intertwined with whatever that feeling you get when you smile like an idiot is called.
They sat down at a bench near the meadow, and Alexander opened his book. Theo, however, pulled out a sketchbook and started drawing something that Alexander couldn’t see. Before he knew it, the noise built up, and Alexander opened his phone to check the time. They ran to assembly together, laughing the whole way. Everything felt fuzzy for that entire day. They smiled at each other in English, and Alexander noticed how often they agreed on arguments. He also noticed how Theo looked so deeply at the words on the pages of whatever piece of literature they were examining, as if he were trying to piece together a puzzle without all of the pieces. He always looked for a deeper meaning behind every word so quickly, looking for some sort of wonder where Alexander didn’t think to search.
More Posts from My-dearest-giulia and Others
I’m so sorry that I haven’t been able to post lately, but I’ve just been very busy. For the last two weeks, I’ve had a summer course at a *certain British university*, and now I’m in Italy to visit my family and friends (while also taking French classes in the mornings). Between all that and the insane heat in Europe, I’ve been completely exhausted every night. I’ll try to post more, darlings (aka the two people who like my posts)!
The sound was muffled; all he could see was Theo’s gorgeous eyes, looking down at his sketch. He leaned closer to see what he was drawing, placing his face closer to Theo’s. Theo smiled over yet another drawing of Alexander. Alexander looked back up at his eyes, and Theo couldn’t pretend not to notice him this time. Alexander’s face was angled in such a way that he was looking up at Theo, quite a rare occurrence. Theo looked straight into those emerald eyes that stared into his. Alexander moved so that his head rested in Theo’s lap and his legs dangled down the hill. His eyes glanced down at Theo’s lips.
Without thinking, Theo pulled his lips up to meet his, a perfect moment, a perfect moment. Warmth spread through Alexander as if he were drinking a scalding cup of hot chocolate in bed on a cold night, the warmth burning the back of his throat and spreading through his body. His hand reached up behind Theo’s head, clutching onto his tawny curls. He didn’t want this moment to end; he couldn’t let it. His mouth did not leave Theo’s, his fingers intertwined in Theo’s hair. He could feel Theo’s hand move down to his back. Their lips parted, a too-long goodbye. Theo looked at him, some sort of expression on his face, not exactly a smile. Alexander shared it. Alexander closed his eyes as Theo sprinkled magnolia leaves on his face, laughing. He knew this moment was never meant to last.
06.18.22
headed to visit friends for the long weekend ,, i always have such a hard time convincing myself to go places when i get in a routine w school or work, but you gotta take advantage of the time you have ig
🎧: the door is closing - spirit of the beehive
ancient greek word of the day: πολυνιφής (polyniphēs), deep with snow
- Sylvia Plath, from 'Ariel'
Hopes and expectations
Ps: I’m doing a survey on Dark Academia for a university project, if you like DA, I’d be happy to have you do it: https://forms.gle/bhFRX9ivTs9BXXdj8
I've been thinking about this for weeks:
Gorgeous by Taylor Swift, but it's Neil Perry when meeting one Todd Anderson, because, goddamn, how can someone be that damn pretty. it shouldn't be allowed.
at first he thinks it's envy. it must be.
todd anderson, gorgeous, gorgeous, todd anderson, who is not only beautiful, but so talented, and poetic, and somehow he manages to make tripping over a stair look graceful !
but then, if it truly is envy, why does he love it ?
why does he love the shine in his eyes, and the peeking prose that hides under his lips ?
he's furious. todd anderson is so gorgeous it hurts, and he can't take it. he loves it. he can't breathe. he's never felt this nervous in his life before.
and who knows, if he actually is just painfully in love with those ocean blue eyes looking in his, that's nobody's business but his own. and maybe todd's. with his stupid, gorgeous face.
An Ode to Rays of Sun
Sweet, mellifluous rays of sunlight
seep through every crack, every seam
invading every crevice, every nook
until there is no space for night.
A million threads,
golden as fresh honey,
bright as a thousand suns,
tether me to the sky.
The shine of silk or velvet,
the beauty of a field of dandelions,
the yellow light,
sends a haze over everything,
obscuring all that is not good.
The morning is acissmus,
the night, a palimpsest.
Until you see the stars.
Oh, the stars deserve their own poem.
I cannot do them justice as a simple end to another.
How can one call themselves human without being enamored with the heavens?
versailles
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