We are Ravenclaw.
We are blue and bronze.
We are the whistling of the wind.
We are clouds and dust.
We are the sunrise and witty lines.
We are the pens that are mightier than the swords.
Sometimes our patience is shorter than our laughs.
Sometimes our words are harder than our bones.
We know. We’ll apologize.
We are the dealers of stories and keepers of legends.
We pay in riddles and trade in ballads.
We are the poems from ancient times and the songs you’ll sing in decades.
And we’ll be just and old and wise.
Every book has a last chapter.
A last page. A last line. A last word.
And sometimes I don’t want to go.
Sometimes I don’t want to close the book.
I don’t want to forget.
But that’s all I can do, the voice yells at me.
That’s all I am there for.
Sometimes I tell a fairytale. And I stop in the middle.
Sometimes my words are stuck in my throat.
And I look at friends and see them wonder:
Does she really believe all that?
And I can’t help but think:
Should I not believe in it?
And the voice goes:
And it hurts.
But then you are there.
With hope in your eyes.
And a laugh on your face.
And you are reaching out to me.
And you ask:
“Can you tell me a story?”
And I could cry.
And I nod.
I believe in this.
In those stories
And how they will be told in times of trouble.
How they will be whispered around the fire.
How they will conquer the world long after my story has ended.
But for now…
Let me tell you a story.
Because in the end,
We are all stories.
We are the ravens flying high.
We have our head in the clouds but are down to earth.
So let’s make it count.
I know we can.