(no subject)
arvatkaa. rakastan Lontoota. homobaareja Sohoa. ja loysin maailman siisteimman cd/dvd/kirjakaupan. ja metroa mut failasin kyl taysin kun oon tottunut helsingissa et pari pysakkia = lyhyt matka ja sit yritin juosta kirjaimellisesti koko St Pancrasin lapi kahdessa minuutissa ja tormasin yhteen mieheen aika coolilla tavalla mut taa ei ehka merkitse hirveesti kun myohastyin junasta... mut loppu hyvin. (kaikesta en sano.)
pitais varmaan kertoa joulusta mut en oo ehtiny dataa enka nyt jaksa, sit kun koulu alkaa ni lupaan kayttaa sadat hyparini hyodyksi.
lopuks, alkaa naurako mut kirjoitan valilla ficceja, taa on Nooralle, ei oo kesken vaan jatkoficci!! ts joululahjaks enka ehtiny. ja mun englanti on paskaa enka itse asiassa muista miks menin alottamaan englanniks....... mut niin osa tekstista on jq melkein vuoden takaa (jossain vaiheessa aattelin tata Nooralle synttarilahjaks :--D) joten kaikki virheet kompelyydet oon tehnyt silloin!
ZENITH
1.
It's cold and lonely and Sirius' body is pressed against the window like a pitiful metaphor of himself. He's tired and restless, tired because restless, restless because tired, all the unspent energy exhausting him into violent dashes against the frozen glass. He misses flying, on a broomstick or on a motorbike or just falling off the fucking roof, he has done that, going up is better but right now even going down would do. He misses the feeling of speeding through winds and clouds, the feeling of bright sun and fresh air, people turning into masses when you look down. He can remember how it is to fly towards the sky and suddenly realize that you are a part of it, like you had turned into cerulean gas or at least mixed with it. Even to people who don't know what it's like, he must look like the size of a star, a part of the sky all the same. And isn't it heavenly to fly? Even though it's been fifteen years and Azkaban has dulled all his other memories, flying is something they could never bury in dust.
Though there is something else, too.
*
Remus is in the kitchen. Sirius can hear him from the windowsill he's sitting on in the next floor. He can smell his tea, because nowadays Remus drinks weird spicy teas without milk or sugar, exotic and easy, anyone could do it for him. But Sirius is the only one who does, and this makes him glad, even if Molly glares at him and offers Remus something to eat instead, like Sirius was the reason Remus keeps consuming endless kettles of boiled water but forgets to eat. Molly forces him to sit down at dinner, glares at him until a decent amount of food has found its way onto his plate, makes sure it's all gone down his throat by the end of the meal. Sirius watches this ritual everytime, Remus is kept from starving but he's not even paying attention, he's not even there, his mind in wars and losses and worries. Sometimes Sirius wants to grasp his wrist and tug the soul back to the body. Sometimes Remus suddenly looks up in the middle of helping himself some sauce, and smiles because Sirius is staring, and still some part of him just isn't there.
It makes Sirius terribly sad, and terribly envious, how Remus can be so detached from the whole world and Sirius can't even escape the house he's trapped in. When Remus is there, he keeps looking for the tiny comforts in anything that shows that Remus is connected to the world, the house, Sirius himself; tea rituals, the creaking of the window in Remus' room after midnight, the way his sharp elbows leave their shape on shabby armchairs. When Remus is away on some dangerous mission, Sirius drinks coffee from his unwashed tea mugs and stands by his window at night and forgets to eat. Because Remus is... something, and no one realizes.
lupaan tuottaa loput jonkun saadyllisen ajan sisalla?
pitais varmaan kertoa joulusta mut en oo ehtiny dataa enka nyt jaksa, sit kun koulu alkaa ni lupaan kayttaa sadat hyparini hyodyksi.
lopuks, alkaa naurako mut kirjoitan valilla ficceja, taa on Nooralle, ei oo kesken vaan jatkoficci!! ts joululahjaks enka ehtiny. ja mun englanti on paskaa enka itse asiassa muista miks menin alottamaan englanniks....... mut niin osa tekstista on jq melkein vuoden takaa (jossain vaiheessa aattelin tata Nooralle synttarilahjaks :--D) joten kaikki virheet kompelyydet oon tehnyt silloin!
ZENITH
1.
It's cold and lonely and Sirius' body is pressed against the window like a pitiful metaphor of himself. He's tired and restless, tired because restless, restless because tired, all the unspent energy exhausting him into violent dashes against the frozen glass. He misses flying, on a broomstick or on a motorbike or just falling off the fucking roof, he has done that, going up is better but right now even going down would do. He misses the feeling of speeding through winds and clouds, the feeling of bright sun and fresh air, people turning into masses when you look down. He can remember how it is to fly towards the sky and suddenly realize that you are a part of it, like you had turned into cerulean gas or at least mixed with it. Even to people who don't know what it's like, he must look like the size of a star, a part of the sky all the same. And isn't it heavenly to fly? Even though it's been fifteen years and Azkaban has dulled all his other memories, flying is something they could never bury in dust.
Though there is something else, too.
*
Remus is in the kitchen. Sirius can hear him from the windowsill he's sitting on in the next floor. He can smell his tea, because nowadays Remus drinks weird spicy teas without milk or sugar, exotic and easy, anyone could do it for him. But Sirius is the only one who does, and this makes him glad, even if Molly glares at him and offers Remus something to eat instead, like Sirius was the reason Remus keeps consuming endless kettles of boiled water but forgets to eat. Molly forces him to sit down at dinner, glares at him until a decent amount of food has found its way onto his plate, makes sure it's all gone down his throat by the end of the meal. Sirius watches this ritual everytime, Remus is kept from starving but he's not even paying attention, he's not even there, his mind in wars and losses and worries. Sometimes Sirius wants to grasp his wrist and tug the soul back to the body. Sometimes Remus suddenly looks up in the middle of helping himself some sauce, and smiles because Sirius is staring, and still some part of him just isn't there.
It makes Sirius terribly sad, and terribly envious, how Remus can be so detached from the whole world and Sirius can't even escape the house he's trapped in. When Remus is there, he keeps looking for the tiny comforts in anything that shows that Remus is connected to the world, the house, Sirius himself; tea rituals, the creaking of the window in Remus' room after midnight, the way his sharp elbows leave their shape on shabby armchairs. When Remus is away on some dangerous mission, Sirius drinks coffee from his unwashed tea mugs and stands by his window at night and forgets to eat. Because Remus is... something, and no one realizes.
lupaan tuottaa loput jonkun saadyllisen ajan sisalla?