I believe in magic.
No I don’t believe in wizards hiding in the shadows pointing wands and shouting incantations. I don’t think there’s witches standing over bubbling cauldrons cackling as they stir in frog legs and unicorn tears. I have no illusion of necromancers summoning the dead in Louisiana as they try to evade death.
No, I believe in something small. Something you never see. Something that lies in the air in comfortable moments. Something that can’t be made or summoned. I believe in a feeling that warms your toes and makes life seem peaceful. It reminds you that the world isn’t perfect, but for one calming moment, it could be.
I believe in magic that is different for everyone. I’ll never experience the same magic moment as someone else. And they’ll never experience the same one twice.
It happens on a dirt road in summer when it’s not hot, but it’s warm enough the windows need to be down. When you’re driving under the speed limit past a field and an old Johnny Cash song starts playing.
It’s being at an outdoor concert when people pull out lighters, not their phones, and sway in unison. The artist holds a note longer then the band plays and their voice cracks.
It’s driving through a city in the middle of the night when the windows are down but they leave you with a chill. There’s a few lights on in buildings and the radio cuts out for one beautiful, silencing moment.
It’s going to an old post office before hours and hearing your steps echoing through the vaulted ceilings. The automatic lights take a second so there’s a bone chilling darkness before the buzzing of the lights start.
It’s waking up early on a trip in a new city and going to the lobby so you don’t wake anyone and it’s completely empty because it’s the front deskman’s break. You can see the steam from the coffee you just poured while sitting in a stiff, overstuffed chair, then the sliding doors open and someone drags their bags in from the frigid morning air.
You can never make the moment and you can feel it when you’re there.
I believe in magic. I don’t believe in witches and wizards or necromancers. But I believe in simple magic that happens in ordinary moments.
KJS // Excerpt from the book I’ll never write #66.
The smell of campfires, a punch in the face, the alley behind a seedy bar in the middle of nowhere, flickering neon light, mobster cars, kissing a letter to leave your mark in red lipstick.
Vanilla scented candles, hug from a friend you haven't sen in forever, oversized sweaters, soft tinted lighting, Christmas carols in November, flannel.
Christmas lights, missing an exit on the highway, sparkling eyes, worn out passports, cutting your hair just because you can, running as far and fast as you can.
A scent reminding you of home, your grandmother's cooking, perfect beach weather, inside jokes that make you laugh too much, unnecessarily fluffy blankets, rooftop picnics late at night with friends.
Losing yourself at your favorite band's concert, playing with a lighter, fireworks exploding in front of you, diving headfirst into the water, interlocked arms with friends, golden eyeshadow.
Brand new makeup, the smell of clean laundry, a fresh notebook just waiting to be written in, the smell of soft pretzels from the mall, delicate silver necklaces, clicking of heels on tile.
Crunching leaves under your feet, a messy kitchen after making a great meal, antique window panes, stacks of books waiting to be read, always carrying mint gum, soft gauze curtains.
Leather boots, stealing from full liquor cabinets, watching the X-files late at night, the taste of burnt marshmallows, an intense feeling of attachment after a short amount of time, good hugs that leave you feeling warm.
Jumping off a waterfall, lipstick displays at makeup stores, playground jump ropes, slightly tipsy games of truth or dare, deep purple eyeliner, hot ice.
Old libraries, watching classic cartoons, knee high socks, opening windows to let the breeze in, the sound of rain, sharp eyeliner.
Smudged eyeliner and oversized shirts, old movies, glass bottles of coke, not being sure if childhood memories are real or not, last minute plans, hazy days smoking and wandering around.
Clouds of smoke, lamp posts in the middle of nowhere, abandoned parking lots, scaling fences, being barely awake to see the sunrise, bright neon lights.
@flightsandlandings helped me write this, so props to her.