He stared at me for a minute longer, tilting his head to the side as he watched me.
For the first time I wanted him to kiss me, I wanted him to lean in and press his lips against mine, to touch me and completely devour me right here, on this damn d...
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STARS can't shine without darkness.
Why have we never looked at the sky that way? We've always interpreted that the darkness needed the light, that the moon would shine at night along with the stars—that the light was 'good' but it really isn't always that way, or why do people always put it that way? Why is darkness taken as such a bad aspect?
When you think of darkness, you think of loneliness, the feeling of being empty, sad, depressed, like the broken shards of glass when you can think of darkness like a source of comfort, a warm hug, something that blends you in within the others and make you realize that at the end, we're all the same people—we bleed red—with the same roots—it all just comes down to what path of that route we choose to take.
Many people take one's opinion very seriously, something that they hold very dearly—like a sticky note, you stick onto yourself and let others label you, why do we do that? They don't know who we are, they don't know what we've been through, they aren't aware of the pain you've seen and felt in the flesh, so why do we let any other person but ourselves, label us so negatively?
Why don't you just rip off the sticky note? They didn't paste the note onto you—you did that to yourself, you gave them enough power to run all over you—oh love you're so unaware of your own potentials, your own capability to achieve things, so why does what they say have such a big impact on us?
Because we desire validation—we desire acceptance, even if it's from people that barely know. It's because you yearn for endorsement from other people to do certain things and forget in the process that this isn't their life but yours, we forgot about our own choices—that indeed you do have a choice, we just tend to make the wrong ones and live in regret of it later.
We forget that you only live once, and living it by the consent of others isn't living—it's captivity, it's torture—it's the enslavement of existing solely based on their thoughts.
"No don't touch it like that," Hermione scolded Harry as he backed away, flinching at the gesture as a thought came to my head of how he isn't scared of the greatest darkest wizard of all time but would be of wandless Hermione. "You don't know what it contains."
"Hermione, it's quite literally part of the sword, I'll do me no harm, it's my personal killing sword," he joked as I snickered, looking down at the cover of my book as I opened it up and began researching the properties of the sword.
"You're not killing anything but objects that just happen to have Riddle's soul," she rolled her eyes as Harry picked up a quill—pretending it was a sword as he began defending himself against Hermione. "You're not funny Harry."
"I'm hilarious," he said, offended, as his eyes looked at me, "see Evelyn finds me funny."
