(no subject)
I forgot I was doing this! Here is another poem I love. NO SURPRISE; I think most people I know love it. I don't read enough poetry, I think.
since feeling (is 5, Four, VII) by E.E. Cummings
since feeling is first
who pays any attention
to the syntax of things
will never wholly kiss you;
wholly to be a fool
while Spring is in the world
my blood approves,
and kisses are a better fate
than wisdom
lady i swear by all flowers. Don't cry
- the best gesture of my brain is less than
your eyelids' flutter which says
we are for each other; then
laugh, leaning back in my arms
for life's not a paragraph
And death i think is no parenthesis
___
And now another drabble!
Rating: PG
Prompt: barefootboys, prompt 5
Summary: Remus wouldn't have kept caring if, for the rest of that week, Sirius had looked up from his notebook at all but perhaps to sleep and sometimes eat.
Word Count: 870ish
Remus came home one night to find Sirius scribbling away in a notebook.
"What are you writing?" he asked, unloading the bags of groceries in his arms onto the kitchen countertop.
Sirius only hummed in return.
Remus wouldn't have kept caring if, for the rest of that week, Sirius had looked up from his notebook at all but perhaps to sleep and sometimes eat. Remus kept asking why, but he never received a straight answer.
"What are you writing?" Remus asked on Tuesday, sitting on the sofa next to Sirius, who had the green notebook in his lap and the tip of the quill in his mouth. Remus put his forehead on Sirius's shoulder.
Sirius leaped up and declared that he was hungry, closing the notebook before Remus could sneak a glance.
On Wednesday, Remus asked, "Is it important?" He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest, wearing Sirius's ratty old Sex Pistols t-shirt. Sirius sat at the table, scribbling out a passage or a sentence or something.
"Kind of," Sirius replied, and then he ripped out a sheet of paper, crumpled it up, and incinerated it with his wand.
"Don't light fires inside, Padfoot," Remus warned him.
Thursday, Remus lay on his stomach on their bed, watching Sirius undress. "Is it for the Order?"
Sirius looked at him oddly. "Is what for the Order?"
"Whatever you've been writing."
Sirius climbed in next to him and kissed his cheek. "No," he said.
"What is it, then?" Remus closed his eyes as Sirius bit down gently on his earlobe.
"Nothing," said Sirius. Then, pressing his thumb along Remus's collarbone and the fingers of his other hand behind the elastic of Remus's underwear--"Does it matter?"
"I guess not," said Remus, and pressed his lips against Sirius's.
Sirius was sitting cross-legged on the floor on Friday, surrounded by a pile of crumpled balls of paper. Remus kneeled next to him and went to pick one up.
"Don't do that, Moony," Sirius said, though in a preoccupied voice. "You'll find out soon enough."
Remus had a new theory by Saturday. "It's poetry," he announced on Saturday at breakfast (or brunch, rather, as neither of them had woken up until noon). "You're a poet."
Sirius snorted milk through his nose from laughing too hard. "I'm not a bloody poet," he said.
"No need for you to laugh! It was only a guess."
"Don't get so offended, Remus. You're not one either."
Remus got so irritated with him that he threw an entire book of his own poetry into the fire and didn't speak to Sirius for all of Sunday.
Sirius apologized on Monday. "You write some okay stuff, I reckon," he said. "Don't burn it."
"Thanks," said Remus, as if he were still angry. It made him smile a little, though.
On Tuesday, Sirius came to bed three hours after Remus had already been asleep. "Moony," he whispered. "Moony."
Remus did not like being woken up at two in the morning. "What?" he mumbled.
"Do you want to see my notebook?"
Groggily, Remus nodded. He followed Sirius back into the living room, which was lighted by a dozen floating candles. Sirius gave him the green notebook, the black binding of which was peeling off.
Remus opened it. THE MARAUDER ADVENTURES, read the first page. BY SIRIUS BLACK (WITH A LOT OF HELP FROM HIS FRIENDS JAMES POTTER, REMUS LUPIN, AND PETER PETTIGREW).
"It's about us!" Sirius exclaimed.
Remus turned the page. Sirius had not wanted to be sorted into Gryffindor, but years down the road he would be sure that the Sorting Hat could not have made a better choice, and all because of his three best friends. He kept flipping through the book, laughing at Sirius's crude stick figure doodles of himself and of Lily and of Snape (whose face had been covered in giant red dots). The pages recounted in slightly exaggerated detail James and Sirius's first prank, the first time Remus had blown something up in Potions, the time Peter found out his Animagus form was a rat.
"Turn to page one hundred eightyish," said Sirius, leaning forward. His hands were wrapped around a still-full cup of tea. He hadn't taken his eyes off Remus's face the entire time.
Remus followed the order.
Sirius first kissed Remus (while sober, anyway) on March twenty-third, 1978. He had wanted to do it sooner, but there were a lot of reasons he didn't do it until then.
1. He was really scared that Remus would hate him forever.
2. He was really scared that James and Peter would also hate him forever.
3. He was really scared that everyone else would hate him forever, too.
But he knew he had to do it for one reason.
1. He knew that if he didn't try, he would hate himself forever.
In the end, nobody important hated him, and everyone important was mostly happy with the situation. But especially Sirius, and hopefully especially Remus.
Remus was grinning when he looked up. "Come here."
Sirius crawled over. Remus took his chin in his hand and kissed him softly, then pulled away to consider.
"Yeah," he said finally. "I'm pretty happy with the situation, too."
since feeling (is 5, Four, VII) by E.E. Cummings
since feeling is first
who pays any attention
to the syntax of things
will never wholly kiss you;
wholly to be a fool
while Spring is in the world
my blood approves,
and kisses are a better fate
than wisdom
lady i swear by all flowers. Don't cry
- the best gesture of my brain is less than
your eyelids' flutter which says
we are for each other; then
laugh, leaning back in my arms
for life's not a paragraph
And death i think is no parenthesis
___
And now another drabble!
Rating: PG
Prompt: barefootboys, prompt 5
Summary: Remus wouldn't have kept caring if, for the rest of that week, Sirius had looked up from his notebook at all but perhaps to sleep and sometimes eat.
Word Count: 870ish
Remus came home one night to find Sirius scribbling away in a notebook.
"What are you writing?" he asked, unloading the bags of groceries in his arms onto the kitchen countertop.
Sirius only hummed in return.
Remus wouldn't have kept caring if, for the rest of that week, Sirius had looked up from his notebook at all but perhaps to sleep and sometimes eat. Remus kept asking why, but he never received a straight answer.
"What are you writing?" Remus asked on Tuesday, sitting on the sofa next to Sirius, who had the green notebook in his lap and the tip of the quill in his mouth. Remus put his forehead on Sirius's shoulder.
Sirius leaped up and declared that he was hungry, closing the notebook before Remus could sneak a glance.
On Wednesday, Remus asked, "Is it important?" He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest, wearing Sirius's ratty old Sex Pistols t-shirt. Sirius sat at the table, scribbling out a passage or a sentence or something.
"Kind of," Sirius replied, and then he ripped out a sheet of paper, crumpled it up, and incinerated it with his wand.
"Don't light fires inside, Padfoot," Remus warned him.
Thursday, Remus lay on his stomach on their bed, watching Sirius undress. "Is it for the Order?"
Sirius looked at him oddly. "Is what for the Order?"
"Whatever you've been writing."
Sirius climbed in next to him and kissed his cheek. "No," he said.
"What is it, then?" Remus closed his eyes as Sirius bit down gently on his earlobe.
"Nothing," said Sirius. Then, pressing his thumb along Remus's collarbone and the fingers of his other hand behind the elastic of Remus's underwear--"Does it matter?"
"I guess not," said Remus, and pressed his lips against Sirius's.
Sirius was sitting cross-legged on the floor on Friday, surrounded by a pile of crumpled balls of paper. Remus kneeled next to him and went to pick one up.
"Don't do that, Moony," Sirius said, though in a preoccupied voice. "You'll find out soon enough."
Remus had a new theory by Saturday. "It's poetry," he announced on Saturday at breakfast (or brunch, rather, as neither of them had woken up until noon). "You're a poet."
Sirius snorted milk through his nose from laughing too hard. "I'm not a bloody poet," he said.
"No need for you to laugh! It was only a guess."
"Don't get so offended, Remus. You're not one either."
Remus got so irritated with him that he threw an entire book of his own poetry into the fire and didn't speak to Sirius for all of Sunday.
Sirius apologized on Monday. "You write some okay stuff, I reckon," he said. "Don't burn it."
"Thanks," said Remus, as if he were still angry. It made him smile a little, though.
On Tuesday, Sirius came to bed three hours after Remus had already been asleep. "Moony," he whispered. "Moony."
Remus did not like being woken up at two in the morning. "What?" he mumbled.
"Do you want to see my notebook?"
Groggily, Remus nodded. He followed Sirius back into the living room, which was lighted by a dozen floating candles. Sirius gave him the green notebook, the black binding of which was peeling off.
Remus opened it. THE MARAUDER ADVENTURES, read the first page. BY SIRIUS BLACK (WITH A LOT OF HELP FROM HIS FRIENDS JAMES POTTER, REMUS LUPIN, AND PETER PETTIGREW).
"It's about us!" Sirius exclaimed.
Remus turned the page. Sirius had not wanted to be sorted into Gryffindor, but years down the road he would be sure that the Sorting Hat could not have made a better choice, and all because of his three best friends. He kept flipping through the book, laughing at Sirius's crude stick figure doodles of himself and of Lily and of Snape (whose face had been covered in giant red dots). The pages recounted in slightly exaggerated detail James and Sirius's first prank, the first time Remus had blown something up in Potions, the time Peter found out his Animagus form was a rat.
"Turn to page one hundred eightyish," said Sirius, leaning forward. His hands were wrapped around a still-full cup of tea. He hadn't taken his eyes off Remus's face the entire time.
Remus followed the order.
Sirius first kissed Remus (while sober, anyway) on March twenty-third, 1978. He had wanted to do it sooner, but there were a lot of reasons he didn't do it until then.
1. He was really scared that Remus would hate him forever.
2. He was really scared that James and Peter would also hate him forever.
3. He was really scared that everyone else would hate him forever, too.
But he knew he had to do it for one reason.
1. He knew that if he didn't try, he would hate himself forever.
In the end, nobody important hated him, and everyone important was mostly happy with the situation. But especially Sirius, and hopefully especially Remus.
Remus was grinning when he looked up. "Come here."
Sirius crawled over. Remus took his chin in his hand and kissed him softly, then pulled away to consider.
"Yeah," he said finally. "I'm pretty happy with the situation, too."