chasinglilyevans

name megaera

age twenty-three

timezone est

house slytherin

star sign scorpio

was it my fault? for loving what couldn’t be reached? many people would say that it was all a tragedy. but i knew the agony i would face, i knew i would burn. yet i let you reduce me to ashes. melt my WINGS to my flesh. how could a mere human ever fly so hard by a god? the great apollo, high on his golden throne, gifted me with wings to reach for the daystar- but they were too frail, too fragile, they weren’t meant to bear your splendor. thus the strings loosened, feathers floated, fiercely burning, and melted wax scorched my skin, to forever display my pride. you never meant to hurt me, but there was nothing you could do. so you watched helplessly as i fell, fell, fell, fell into the unforgiving deep. gods called it arrogance, but I was not afraid. no, i laughed the whole way down. because even for second, my fingerprints met the sun’s, and as for all u have fallen, still i flew. flying, failing, falling.
. —modern tragedy, or the end of a triumph by expirarium

greek tragedy

shadeandadidas:

Even dreams sometimes.
Of his time at Bakka, of midnights at the skate park with Yousef and Mikael, or weed tinted laughs and screams all along the streets of Oslo. He dreams about Sonja, with her bright eyes that grew dull and her smile that turned forced. He dreams sometimes of Sana, two years younger with a sly smile and sharp wit and he dreams of the times when all of them hung out together- before words like bipolar and illness and reckless ever entered his vocabulary.
He dreams of running really fast. He dreams of tears running down his face and missed calls on his phone and terror because what has he done? Why can’t he control himself and why won’t his mind just shut up shut up shut up?
He dreams glimpses in between of nights locked in his room and the last words between his best friends and him. He dreams of silence and loneliness and the amount of effort it took to keep waking up day after day when all he wanted to do was fade away.
And then he dreams of his first day of Nissen. Of a boy in a red snapback singing wildly off tune to some rapper and half jumping onto his friend with dark eyebrow’s back. He dreams of blue eyes meeting green ones across the space of a cafeteria. He dreams of nights huddled together, of the weight of a teenage boy in his lap on their very own couch in their very own apartment.
He dreams of the moments in between too. Chlorine kisses and and warm skin underneath his fingertips, the distant sound of pop songs in the background and dancing. Of more tears and more fears and the sensation of being welcomed home into his arms.
Even dreams about a lot of things.
But when he wakes up and the dream is replaced by his reality- dirty laundry and a cuddly body and little plants decorating the sill of their window- he is gripped by the notion that he’ll take all of the dreams, good and bad and heartbreaking in between, if it means he gets to keep this.