Dear Scorpio, you never cease to amaze me, the amount you love and care for others is remarkable. Please look after yourself though, in helping others you’ve forgotten to let yourself heal.
Dear Sagittarius, it isn’t worth stressing about, I promise. Everything will sort itself out if only you give it enough time.
Dear Capricorn, don’t count yourself out before the race has begun. You have magic in you my dear.
Dear Aquarius, the type of snow that swirls peacefully and freezes time. The final five minutes of your favourite film. Coffee with a loved one. You too are the very best the world has to offer, don’t let anyone make you feel you’re worth less.
Dear Pisces, with a running start nothing is impossible. Take a deep breath, swallow your fear and go get them. The world if waiting for you.
Dear Aries, this is not permanent. Everyone stumbles when climbing a mountain. Things will get easier and the storm will pass.
Dear Taurus, your smile is infectious and the world could use a few more reasons to smile right now. Let yourself be comfortable and grateful for the love that surrounds you and others will follow.
Dear Gemini, nobody likes to be criticized, but you cannot go on the defensive every time anyone points out a problem. A little spilled milk is not worth an argument. Apologize and move on.
Dear Cancer, find joy in the way the world is beginning to light up around you. Take the scenic route to enjoy the view and find time to breath a little. You deserve it.
Dear Leo, I hope your bones have finally begun to feel like home. Be kind to yourself.
Dear Virgo, it’s wonderful to see you so happy again. I’ve missed your laughter and the warmth of your company. You have no idea how wonderful it is for the people who get to call you a friend.
Dear Libra, don’t let insecurity make you petty. You get to decide where you stand with people, should you choose to walk by without glancing in the way of familiar faces then there may be no going back.
‘The Shire was divided into four quarters, the Farthings already referred to. North, South, East, and West; and these again each into a number of folklands, which still bore the names of some of the old leading families, although by the time of this history these names were no longer found only in their proper folklands. Nearly all Tooks still lived in the Tookland, but that was not true of many other families, such as the Bagginses or the Boffins. Outside the Farthings were the East and West Marches: the Buckland and the Westmarch added to the Shire in S.R. 1462.“
"The Shire at this time had hardly any ‘government’. Families for the most part managed their own affairs. Growing food and eating it occupied most of their time. In other matters they were, as a rule, generous and not greedy, but contented and moderate, so that estates, farms, workshops, and small trades tended to remain unchanged for generations.”
“Thy dawn, O Master of the World, thy dawn; For thee the sunlight creeps across the lawn, For thee the ships are drawn down to the waves, For thee the markets throng with myriad slaves, For thee the hammer on the anvil rings, For thee the poet of beguilement sings.”
Summary: Dan goes to a school for spies, he’s not supposed to be noticed, not supposed to be given a second glance, but Phil seems to see him, actually see him, and not just his cover.
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“Alright” The voice rang out, cutting through the air. The wind whipped once more, grabbing the last bit of the word and taking it for itself. Dan pulled his coat around himself, but it wasn’t his coat. Those weren’t his shoes either, that wasn’t his shirt, and those definitely were not his glasses. It was all just a costume, a disguise, clothes picked with an aim in mind. To blend in, to become your surroundings, to be as plain as the day around you. Dan was already a natural at being plain, his hair a patent sort of brown, with eyes to match, his features proportional and unpretentious, it wasn’t the sort of face you looked at twice.
The morning is when she lingers. It’s before the world wants anything from her and that’s when she’s most beautiful. It’s true that not many saw her like that but I can’t say I was the only one. Even though we each have our own beginnings, mornings like this were shared between us all.
She used to tell people that it was like the world was drawn with a dull piece of charcoal. That was before me. Now that she sees things my way, everything makes a little more sense. This is me. If I’m meant for anything, it’s to show her the world. Is that so bad? The quiet morning like the many before it, calm and comfortable, but comfort can terribly blinding. The difference with this particular morning is in a call. She smiles, for who? I can’t see anymore.
She tells me she wants to be a raindrop. She doesn’t mind falling as long as she’s not alone and raindrops are never alone. She always had a new story to tell me: today it’s about being a raindrop. I wish I could’ve been there cause stories aren’t always enough and words can only go so far. This is me. Sometimes I wonder if she’s still talking to me or if I’m just eavesdropping. It used to be everyday, sometimes for hours, sometimes for minutes. Healthy relationships are based on communication but her words however sweet and real sounds so distant and now, they float pass me effortlessly as if they were meant for someone else.
She must know what she does to me; her every touch, every time she holds my hands, every time she hold me close. This is me. If you hold my hand I’ll be yours forever. A simple promise, that’s all I can offer. Is it enough? It may be too late for me, it may be too late.
Anyone can look from a distance. A stranger can look from a distance, what’s so special about that? But, to know her scent is something else. It means we’ve been close, closer than anyone else. I dare say I’m lucky but when she doesn’t want me, when she’s away and it’s just her scent with me, I can only feel forgotten. This is me, left behind. Am I the stranger now?
There are those nights when it’s just two of us and she softly hides in her own thoughts when only one thing seems to melt the cold silence: a kiss. This is me. Ask me what the perfect day tastes like and I’ll say her lips. And she was my first kiss, it has to mean something, something sure and true because a taste of a pure kiss can’t be shared. It’s the dreadfully romantic idea but there can only be one. The question is, am I her only one? I’m afraid the truth will break me, but her kiss is convincing: I’m not her only one.
She said she wanted to be a raindrop and today it finally broke us. She’d found her own to fall with, her own to fall for.
The English Major. Janet Hill (Canadian). Oil on canvas.
“I thought it was time for a larger piece since it’s been a while. It felt good to stretch my arms a bit with this one. I should also mention that ‘This Is Glamorous’ did a feature on my paintings including an overview of my five favourite films and how they have influenced my work.” – Hill
1062. A dedicated group of muggleborn students dedicate all their free time to creating charms that produce hyper-realistic Halloween illusions, which randomly wander the halls, all themed around their favourite films.