I hope one day, maybe when you’re driving along in your car, or when you’re watching TV, or just relaxing after a long day, that you’ll think of me. I hope you’ll think of me and realize that not choosing me was a horrible mistake. I hope that you’ll regret what you did. And I hope that when you realize I’m finally happy, you’ll wish you were a part of it.
I hope this is the year you get everything you ever wanted.
I hope this is the year it all starts to make sense again.
The year you find your voice. Your heart. Yourself.
I hope this year you say ‘No More.’ and mean it.
I hope that this year means death to everything that would harm you and life to everything that helps you dream.
The year you wake up just to see the new dawn over the horizon.
The year you find great love in small things– in whispers and silence and the catch of breath as the first kiss is taken.
I hope you have courage to fight for everything you deserve, to stand your ground when the walls come caving in.
I hope this year teaches you how to care for your bruised and battered soul, how to lavish the sweet water of love on it’s aching feet.
I hope this year you hold tighter, speak slower, laugh louder, imagine bigger and dance faster.
I hope this is the year of moving on.
The year you reclaim your own heart, take it for yourself and bring it in close, rekindle the light so it shines brighter, warmer.
The year the mountain in front of you is something you view with overwhelming determination and not overwhelming fear.
The year you make art, make music, make beauty.
I hope this is the year that colors seem more vibrant and even the dark clouds seem more soothing,
I hope this is the year you love yourself unapologetically.
The year you don’t say sorry to anyone for any piece of who you are.
I hope nothing more or nothing less than the most shining, spectacular three hundred and sixty five days of bliss.
For you. For me. Let it be extravagant.
Freezing rain poured outside, beating a pattern against Saitama’s apartment’s thin roof for the third day in a row, but inside the little home, both heroes were warm and cozy, tangled up under their blankets together. Due to the weather, crime and monster attacks had been minimal and Saitama and Genos had been content to pass the days in a serene comfort, warm, calm and-
“Goddammit, Genos,” Saitama cried, frantically pressing the A button on his controller. “How are you so good at this! You’re cheating!”
“I promise I am not cheating, Sensei,” Genos replied, calmly. “Merely, trying to give you the best fight I am able.”
I wonder about the full effect on adrien of becoming chat noir. Like, has it made him happier? was he maybe suicidal or just sad? High expectations have got to be a stressful thing. Also, he didn’t really have any friends before public school, and chloe doesn’t count.