Alexander’s Golden Hair Shone In The Glass Sunlight, A Moment So Perfect It Seemed It Could Fracture
Alexander’s golden hair shone in the glass sunlight, a moment so perfect it seemed it could fracture at the smallest breath. His eyes looked like green crystals, flicks of blue emerging in the sun.
Alexander didn’t notice this, but Theo did, gazing up at the window. He looked back down at his tattered copy of the Iliad, wondering what book Alexander was reading. The sun was setting, making the world look like a haze of pink and purple. Theo looked at the cotton candy clouds, unaware that Alexander was looking right down at him, sitting on the bench next to the road. Alexander closed his book, Jane Austen’s Emma, and smiled a little half-smile, looking at the way the orange sky reflected off of Theo’s eyes. Those eyes flicked to his, Alexander turning away a few seconds too late, the grin disappearing from his face. Theo’s smile, on the other hand, only widened. Alexander chided himself for his incompetence and looked over at the door of his room, still seeing those gilded curls. He blinked quickly, trying to get them out of his vision. He looked back down at the sidewalk; the boy had gone from the wooden bench. He forced himself to look back at his book.
More Posts from My-dearest-giulia and Others
Cambridge, Nov 4 2017
sometimes i read a phrase in a poem or a story or i see the clouds amble in the sky traced by sunlight or i hear a specific combination of notes on a piano and i just get so overwhelmed with a really specific feeling that i can't really name but i know that this feeling is so human and so tender at its core and that i am a tiny little part of a world so delightfully rich with sensations and i exist to experience this very feeling because it stems from the pure human love for coexistence with the world
the poetry students
as requested by @shout-into-the-voiddd
reciting stanzas of your favorite poems under the light of the moon
pages covered in notes and annotations
repeating words aloud to feel how they roll through your mouth
a love for beauty and the many ways it can be expressed
quiet moments outside, listening to the sounds of nature
paying attention to little things others might miss
understanding the importance of diction and figurative language
studying the lives of famous poets, seeing how their worlds impacted their writing
the crunch of autumn leaves underfoot
an appreciation for those who can use a few words to communicate something infinitely complicated
long hours curled up reading in your favorite chair
feeling a sense of camaraderie between yourself and your favorite poets
thin poetry volumes stacked on your shelves
a love for metaphor and simile
reading the works of Langston Hughes and Emily Dickinson, Jamaica Kincaid and Lord Byron, appreciating the infinite variety
a messy desk, drawers filled with an array of papers
awe over how mere words on a page can transmit deep emotion
cloudy mornings
a notebook filled with half-formed poems, lines and stanzas borne from a moment of inspiration
warming your fingers on a mug of hot tea
seeking a way to capture the human condition in ink on the page
using poetry to make sense of your world and experiences
Duke Humphrey’s Library, the Bodleian, Oxford. May 2019.
Re-uploading these because I finally figured out how to format them!! I will never stop being grateful for the chance to study here.
The sound was muffled; all he could see was Theo’s gorgeous eyes, looking down at his sketch. He leaned closer to see what he was drawing, placing his face closer to Theo’s. Theo smiled over yet another drawing of Alexander. Alexander looked back up at his eyes, and Theo couldn’t pretend not to notice him this time. Alexander’s face was angled in such a way that he was looking up at Theo, quite a rare occurrence. Theo looked straight into those emerald eyes that stared into his. Alexander moved so that his head rested in Theo’s lap and his legs dangled down the hill. His eyes glanced down at Theo’s lips.
Without thinking, Theo pulled his lips up to meet his, a perfect moment, a perfect moment. Warmth spread through Alexander as if he were drinking a scalding cup of hot chocolate in bed on a cold night, the warmth burning the back of his throat and spreading through his body. His hand reached up behind Theo’s head, clutching onto his tawny curls. He didn’t want this moment to end; he couldn’t let it. His mouth did not leave Theo’s, his fingers intertwined in Theo’s hair. He could feel Theo’s hand move down to his back. Their lips parted, a too-long goodbye. Theo looked at him, some sort of expression on his face, not exactly a smile. Alexander shared it. Alexander closed his eyes as Theo sprinkled magnolia leaves on his face, laughing. He knew this moment was never meant to last.
When Haruki Murakami said, "Sometimes I feel like a caretaker of a museum - a huge, empty museum where no one ever comes, and I'm watching over it for no one but myself." And when Audrey Hepburn said, "Living is like tearing through a museum. Not until later do you really start absorbing what you saw, thinking about it, looking it up in a book, and remembering - because you can't take it in all at once."
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