You're not dreaming, you are the dream

(via yellowasian)

He’s too young for this. He should have had more time, to adjust, to think, to decide. But of course things rarely happen the way we want. 

He’s still a boy, not even seventeen winters old. But it’s not that which makes it as if an icy hand is clenched around my heart. He is far too innocent for this life, for the scheming and the lies and the deceit. 

He wears his emotions on his face, like an open book - he has never had reason to hide them until now. But he learns, far too fast. I die a little inside every time I watch him mask his true feelings, every time I see him swallow a word or suppress a smile or bite back a cry. And I fear he is lost to me.

But winter comes and with it the cold, dark nights when all our dreams turn so easily into nightmares. And he comes to me, one cold night at solstice time. Barefoot, wrapped in a sheet to ward against the chill he appears at my door. And I see the way his slender frame is taut, like a string on his violin, and how he trembles at my touch and I know then what he needs from me. 

Later, he falls asleep nestled against me, his cheeks still wet from the tears he’d held in for so long. And I whisper words into the night, words he will not remember in the morning. Words of comfort, promise - of love - things I cannot say in the cold light of day, for he is the King and I am but a soldier in the King’s army. 

(via elenilote)

elenilote:

The sunset reflected on the surface of the water, colouring it in brilliant gold and copper, radiant even in the fading evening light.

The stones had been laid in a sinuous curve, I walked with a soft tread, careful not to disturb the delicate balance. It felt unreal, as if I was suspended between the liquid gold of the water below me and the blazing fire of the sky above.

The spell was broken by the most unexpected sound. Laughter. Clear, brilliant, free. I had thought myself to be alone in the garden and was frightened for a moment, before I checked myself, no evil ever made such a pure sound.

I stopped and listened, but heard no more. I hastened across the stone path, my feet slipping on the uneven surface but somehow I did not fall but made it to sold ground. I looked around, trying to recall where the sound came from, I wanted to find the source, to look upon someone so pure and full of light.

But it was not to be. As the shadows deepened, I had to turn back or I would be lost in the woods for the night. With a heavy heart I hastened back to the water’s edge and the stone path that would lead me back to the world I had escaped for a few hours.

As I turned to lock the gate behind me, I caught sight of something silver shining on the ground. I picked it up and held it close to better see in the fading light what it was that I had found. A feather. A single, silver feather that seemed to glow with an inner light. It was large in size but delicate in composition, and I knew it belonged to the owner of the voice. I recognised it for what it was, a rare gift.

I never went back to the garden after that evening, I could not. But the feather sat on my bedside table, its silvery glow never fading.

(Source: lywinis)

Pain. Piercing, debilitating pain everywhere.

They chained my wings so I couldn’t fly away, chained with cold iron that sears my skin and tears at the feathers on my wings.

I struggled, at first. But the chains only got tighter and more painful. They stood outside my cell and watched, impassive - never speaking, never making a single human sound.

I am dying. I know it, I can feel it in every breath I take. It won’t be long now, I hope it comes when I sleep, I do not want to be awake when it happens.

I wake up, drenched in sweat and gasping for breath. A dream. It was just a dream.

But I cannot help but sit up and check my wings for the chains I saw in my dream, of course they do not exist - the feathers are the same dover-grey colour as always and no burns mar their surface. I breathe a sigh of relief but a nagging doubt stays in the back of my mind nevertheless - what if what I saw was a true vision? What if it’s going to happen - for real?

(via elenilote)

It’s the sort of a day when the sunlight comes through the trees to make everything look so clear and colourful and alive. We walk along the path side by side, her small hand in mine. 

“Where does the path lead to?” she asks, her child-like innocence showing in the wide eyes and flushed cheeks, the eager way her words rush out all strung-together like a necklace of pearls.

“The road goes ever on and on, down from the door where it began…” I hum to myself in response and then have dodge a playful punch from her. “OK, OK I give up, I’ll tell you! It ends at a clearing by a lake, sweet one. There are oak trees and rowan trees, bluebells and lilies-of-the-valley and swans swim on the lake. We will sit under the canopy of the trees and watch the sunlight play on the water, and later - if you’ll let me - I will kiss your lips and call you my sweetheart and tell you all the ways in which I love you.”

We do, and I tell her. 

But summer ends and fall begins and she goes, leaving me alone with my memories. I love the way the sunlight plays in your hair. I love how you get dimples when you smile. I love it when you say my name. 

Memories. They are a pale shadow of what I once had, but it is all that I have left and I hold them close to my heart and there they remain, all the days of my life. 

(Source: thegardennymph, via syverce)

We promised to always leave a light on in the dark, no one would have to come home to a dark house. 

It doesn’t matter that it’s only me now, that you’re not here any more. But I wanted to let you know that I still do it. I always light a lantern in the window, for you to find your way home. 

(Source: iwroteapoemonce, via elenilote)

thadsthoughts:

One thousand words couldn’t tell the beauty this one picture speaks.

Words are hard. How do you describe something you know so intimately. The feel of his skin, the line of his jaw and the rough texture of the stubble he cannot seem to get rid of. The delicate curve of an ear and the groove that appears between his brows when he frowns. How his hair feels like silk under my hand, the unruly curls resisting every attempt at straightening them. 

Words are hard but I try anyway. I love you, I say. And he smiles, takes my hand and kisses the bruised and scratched skin over my knuckles. I know. 

And then there is no more need for words. 

(Source: generalokada)

The forest was grey and lifeless in the cold evening shadows. The sun had set and the moon not yet risen, the ghostly mist rising from the ground making everything just a little surreal. 

Anemones covered the forest floor, their white blossoms the only colour in the landscape and even that muted and somehow ominous - there was no warmth in them.

But I did not care. I could have laid down on a bed of thorns then and not noticed the needles pressing into my skin. Nothing could have matched the pain I felt inside me, the pain of betrayal. The pain of being abandoned, tossed aside and forgotten.

I lay among the cold, white flowers and stared into the mist until my eyes closed and I fell into a blissful oblivion. The morning brought a relief of sorts, a dull ache where a sharp, piercing pain had been earlier - a blessing if you wanted to think that way. 

I walked away without looking back. It was better that way. The flowers would wilt and die only to grow back the next spring, in the same way my heart would come to life again - but you would not be there to see it, that much was certain.

But I kept the ring.

(Source: weheartit.com, via serindrana)

I stood in the shadows at the end of the road and watched. I saw a happy family, smiling faces and eyes full of laughter. A family I did had no right to call my own. 

You turned, as if you could feel my gaze on you. Your smile did not waver nor your eyes linger where I stood but somehow I knew you had seen me. And…in a strange way I felt cleansed. Forgiven.

You went back inside, I stood for a long time after collecting my thoughts. As I turned to leave, it started to snow - the most delicate, sparkling flakes of brilliant white filled my vision and I knew. It was time for me to move on and leave you behind.