Loverlies
Typhoon today, school was cancelled. Utterly depressing, as today was to be my last day of classes. Had games and prizes and music all prepared for the third years, and now I don't know if we'll get to do it at all, as tomorrow is the closing ceremonies. (And Thursday afternoon is the pick-up date for all of my luggage.) Plus, I need to translate my goodbye speech for tomorrow and my teacher was supposed to help me with that. Asked my teacher about the last class and the speech (maybe I could email it to her or something?) but I haven't heard back yet.
Much sadness.
But at least I did get to read How Something Like Luck You Are by ohquixotica, which is a Kurt/Blaine (Blaine/Kurt?) one-shot that is achingly beautiful. Her tense wavers here and there, but ye gods, it reads like poetry. There's a short bit from the POV of the sky which is the most beautiful thing I've read in a long time. ee cummings-beautiful, no kidding - it in itself should be a poem:
The Sky
Two boys pell-mell and yelp and tumble over pavement and into chain-creak swings and flip their feet up in the air and hurl themselves into motion. And this boy has lost his shoes, and so the other kicks his off and sends them bumpjump across the blacktop like skiprocks, and for this once he doesn't think about scuffs or ruin because the wind goes whistling through his toes like a beachday, that gentle and cool. They swing sometimes together and sometimes in counterpoint, flinging their bodies upward and back in graceful arcs, easy and natural and waterbeautiful and together together together with no words but laughing and shouts like starbursts and shut eyes to breathe hard in.
Then this boy goes sideways, stretchkicks his legs to lock around those otherboy ankles, and he pulls in til their chains twist up and their knees lock together and their breath locks together and the kiss is a good one, sweet and deep and still as lakewater and not one soul anywhere on earth is looking. They are invisible under the humming stars. And it's delicious because even the crickets are quiet and the lawns of the stoic cross-street houses yawn open, clean and empty like hands in supplication, and everything stops to pray for this for once just for this kind of quiet.
Here, here, come gentle now, put your head on his heart and listen, boy. You are darling and somebody in love like this made you once, and wished for you a mostexactly moment like this. Gentle, gentle, breathe him in he is moss and damp ground and sun on earth. Put your kisses there, in the crook of his neck and the divot above his lips and kiss the eyelashes, too, and the brow. Go down slow, slide there, back to his heart, and tell him you hear it beat beat behind there like a giant under the ribs. Let him hold your chains and rock you watersoft through the whirl of nightsparking bugs let the chains groan on their rusty hinges they will hold you up until you twist apart but not yet, let not-go just yet, hold here together a little while it is so deepquiet and so still like it's never still and do you feel it now, boy, how something like luck you are?
(Have I mentioned that I love Blaine? Because I do. And my friends here who are into Glee think he's boring, but I love him, dashing and dapper and bright and cheerful and silly and confident-bordering-on-cocky, and almost-but-not-quite-a-man-yet that he is. A Prince Charming who wears pink sunglasses and too much hair gel, who jumps on tables and sings highly inappropriate songs, with all the head-smarts and none of the heart-smarts. Oh, and the blazer. I adore him.)
Much sadness.
But at least I did get to read How Something Like Luck You Are by ohquixotica, which is a Kurt/Blaine (Blaine/Kurt?) one-shot that is achingly beautiful. Her tense wavers here and there, but ye gods, it reads like poetry. There's a short bit from the POV of the sky which is the most beautiful thing I've read in a long time. ee cummings-beautiful, no kidding - it in itself should be a poem:
The Sky
Two boys pell-mell and yelp and tumble over pavement and into chain-creak swings and flip their feet up in the air and hurl themselves into motion. And this boy has lost his shoes, and so the other kicks his off and sends them bumpjump across the blacktop like skiprocks, and for this once he doesn't think about scuffs or ruin because the wind goes whistling through his toes like a beachday, that gentle and cool. They swing sometimes together and sometimes in counterpoint, flinging their bodies upward and back in graceful arcs, easy and natural and waterbeautiful and together together together with no words but laughing and shouts like starbursts and shut eyes to breathe hard in.
Then this boy goes sideways, stretchkicks his legs to lock around those otherboy ankles, and he pulls in til their chains twist up and their knees lock together and their breath locks together and the kiss is a good one, sweet and deep and still as lakewater and not one soul anywhere on earth is looking. They are invisible under the humming stars. And it's delicious because even the crickets are quiet and the lawns of the stoic cross-street houses yawn open, clean and empty like hands in supplication, and everything stops to pray for this for once just for this kind of quiet.
Here, here, come gentle now, put your head on his heart and listen, boy. You are darling and somebody in love like this made you once, and wished for you a mostexactly moment like this. Gentle, gentle, breathe him in he is moss and damp ground and sun on earth. Put your kisses there, in the crook of his neck and the divot above his lips and kiss the eyelashes, too, and the brow. Go down slow, slide there, back to his heart, and tell him you hear it beat beat behind there like a giant under the ribs. Let him hold your chains and rock you watersoft through the whirl of nightsparking bugs let the chains groan on their rusty hinges they will hold you up until you twist apart but not yet, let not-go just yet, hold here together a little while it is so deepquiet and so still like it's never still and do you feel it now, boy, how something like luck you are?
(Have I mentioned that I love Blaine? Because I do. And my friends here who are into Glee think he's boring, but I love him, dashing and dapper and bright and cheerful and silly and confident-bordering-on-cocky, and almost-but-not-quite-a-man-yet that he is. A Prince Charming who wears pink sunglasses and too much hair gel, who jumps on tables and sings highly inappropriate songs, with all the head-smarts and none of the heart-smarts. Oh, and the blazer. I adore him.)