James loves Lily best at 6 am on a Tuesday, when she burrows under the covers and murmurs something to herself before slipping back into a deeper sleep. He hates getting out of bed and leaving her. He presses a kiss to her forehead before he goes.
James loves Lily best at noon on a Saturday, when they carry their sandwiches outside and eat them in the grass and the sunlight is tangling through her hair and turning it golden. He can’t help but reach out to tuck a silky strand behind her ear.
James loves Lily best at 8 pm on a Monday, when she’s curled up barefooted on the couch with a book tucked in her lap and she’s pulling her lower lip between her teeth in concentration. He’s polishing his broomstick but he’s also watching her, transfixed.
James loves Lily best at 9 am on a Sunday, when her hands are clutched around her favorite mug and the steam curls up around her face as she smiles at him or at something he’s said. He smiles back because it seems like all he can do when she’s around.
James loves Lily best at 5 pm on a Wednesday, when she’s padding around the kitchen for a little of this and a little of that to add to the pot. He slips up behind her and pulls her close, dropping his nose into the crown of her head until he’s filled with the smell of her.
James loves Lily best at midnight on a Friday, when they’re out late with friends and her laughter rings out like bells and makes her green eyes dance. The rest of the world has become a little bit hazy, but he sees her so clearly she might as well be the only other person in the room.
James loves Lily best at 3 pm on a Thursday, when she pulls him up by the hand and drags him outside because it’s too nice of a day to spend it indoors. He slips his fingers between hers and their linked hands swing gently between them. He can’t remember when he was happier.
didievenmakeasoundidievenmakeasounditslikeinevermadeasoun w i l l i e v e r m a k e a s o u n d?
waviiiiing wAVIIIIIIING oooOOOOOhoooooo
and there he goes racing toward the tallest tree from far across the yellow field i hear him calling follow me and there we go wondering how the world might look from up so high one foot after the other one branch then to another
i climb hIgHeRaNdHiGhEr i climb until the entire sun shines on mY FACEEEEEEEEEEE
oh my god
DUDE I’M PROUD OF YOU
well I’m sorry you had it rough and I’m sorry I’m not enough thaNK GOD THEY RES CUED YO U
except sometimes you see everything you wanted and sometimes you see everything you wish you had and it’s right there right there RIGHT THERE
Hi, I have a headcanon that Gaston has a few battle scars from the war, and uses them to gloat to the ladies about in the form of, “Want to know how I got this one?” And he flexes his arm and shows them the scar and it usually leaves the girls fainting and in a frenzy and then you come along and you’re like “what the heck” and you literally dig into him and say “I bet you got that falling down a flight of stairs, not from wrestling with a bear in the woods.”
And Gaston is literally so flabbergasted by your blunt statement and analysis and he takes it upon himself to crack you open. He’s always up for a challenge.
I walked home from work tonight. Thought of you. Every dog
was barking, all having a conversation I was not invited to, probably because
if I was I would only talk about you, and they’re sick of it.
My sister hates you, and when I say hate I mean she would
kill you given the opportunity. She’s not
alone you say when I tell you this, and I say it’s the one thing her and I have in common, and you laugh, and I stare.
I can’t say what you being happy does to me. I feel the sun within me like I swallowed
it, all of me warm.
Lily here’s the thing:
we need a better apartment! you call from the shower, which occasionally
turns off for no reason and won’t go on again until the toilet is flushed. James, here’s the thing: we need more money!
I call back. Being poor is a lot more romantic in the films. In reality it
is having an oven that takes thirty minutes to turn off and curling into one
another during winter, fingers purple.
I don’t mind being poor with you. And when I say I don’t mind
I mean I obviously mind but not as much when you are with me. I don’t mind a
lot of things when you are with me: flat tire, missed flight, my mother only
speaking to me when my father is asleep.
That time we had no electricity that week because we had to
pay our rates. Us, in the dark, holding candles you stole from Remus, playing
cards for hours but only Go Fish because it was the only game you knew. After
work when you got home at three and we ate crackers and made up episodes of Friends to entertain ourselves. Joey and
Chandler run away to Atlantis. Phoebe transforms into an armadillo and desperately
tries to gain admission into a zoo. Rachel gets arrested for stalking Queen Elizabeth.
Ross dies in a house fire. They all forget to go to his funeral. And us: rolling
on the floor, our laughter the only thing.
There are still things I dislike about you. You won’t take
buses because you think they’re dirty. When we fight and you laugh at me.
Leaving all the kitchen cabinets open so I bump into them. That I tell you
about why my father hates me but you won’t tell me why yours does.
(I think it’s because of me. I often forget that you should
be a lawyer right now, instead of in an apartment with me and an oven that takes
thirty minutes to turn off.)
Often we talk about what our lives will be like later. When
we have money. When we have time. You will buy a giant couch so Sirius will
stop bitching about how uncomfortable the floor is when he’s over. I want to
get a cat and name it ‘milk’ or ‘bumblebee’ or some other ridiculous thing, and
when I say this you stare and then kiss me senseless. I cannot believe you love me you say. All my breath deserts me. I cannot
believe I wouldn’t.
You work late nights, and I work afternoons, so in the
morning we eat cereal out of the box and sit in bed, talking about what kind of
dogs we’d be. I’m a beagle. You want to be a German Shepherd but in reality you’re
Scottish Terrier because you’re still a bit posh and also wear glasses. Scottish Terriers don’t wear glasses you
say. Yes, but they look like they should I
respond. You consider this, and then nod. You’re
right you agree. I take a handful of cornflakes and am so fucking glad that
I use your toothbrush sometimes when its dark and I can’t find
mine, and this is something I will never tell you, primarily because you’d
freak out about it. Another thing I can never say: you always buy too much
popcorn at the movies for two people to eat. I also can’t say the entire reason
I still have the purple sneakers from five years ago that no longer fit me is because
they were the shoes I was wearing when you told me you first told me you loved
me, and I did not look beautiful, so I knew you meant it.
In truth I could spend an infinite amount of hours talking
about you, and the things we do when we’re alone
(including but not limited to: playing scrabble, trying to
recreate that lift from Dirty Dancing, reading books without saying anything,
arguing about how long the commercial is and whether it’s worth switching the
channel, you kissing my neck, bumping into one another half asleep in the
kitchen, arguing about who’s turn it is to do the dishes, laughing about our
neighbours and how loud their sex is, discussing whether our sex is louder than
the neighbours, trying to make our sex louder than the neighbours, burning our
bills once we’ve paid them, getting drunk off cheap tequila and having a dance
off, lying in bed carding my hands through your hair, having a staring contest
over lunch, kissing each other on the mouth, kissing each other in other
But I won’t. because other people (and dogs) find it boring
when you talk about another person to much. I don’t mind. I have you. They don’t.
I can’t imagine how awful that is.