Daydreams - Blog Posts

Indulge your imagination in every possible flight.

—Jane Austen

Warning for this, there will be some sexual theme said here. You are warn!

I imagine myself cosplaying as Harry Potter in a daydream, me and some other HP Cosplayers were ask what is our favorite thing in Starbucks. Everyone said their answer but I didn't understand it somehow and was out of character and said that I only drink their hot chocolate with whip-cream (Which I do, I'm not a Starbucks person but their hot chocolate is different from others I've ever tastiest) but the Draco Cosplayer said 'what if Harry Potter have a favorite thing' but I was trying so hard to think like him that I said, "...ummm...uhh-Draco's dick cum-..shit!"

I am just giggling like a idiot here, I was just reading a Drarry fic XD

I can't wait to feel this again 😞😞❤❤

soft and warm

The worst feeling is having a song stuck in your head that does not go with your daydream. I’ll be thinking of a fluffy situation between my otp then suddenly my head is singing death metal

I would like to bathe in a river of roses

sorrows inside

part 1/4 of mourning your reciprocation

the sun was shining brighter than ever at noon. this morning, my therapist told me to focus on the way it shines slim, curved lines of yellow on the pristine pebbles along the street as i walked back home. i was doing a good job at it, if you don’t count a few minor distractions like a swaying hyacinth and a snowy husky dog that served a pang to my head as a forceful reminder of how much you loved them. but i left it there. it should be there, and shouldn’t have travelled down, stuck at the base of my throat before sending a drastic fall. but it did, when i crawled on the crimson bench alone against the white walls of a shelter that i was supposed to spend dreamlike moments in with you. but it did, tugging a tumultuous crash to my aching heart. my heart pulsed once. badump. medicinal chemicals overlapping hints of metallic blood filling my nostrils. twice. badump. cardboard boxes weighing on my hands nearly as heavy as my heart was, with no one to share. thrice. badump. fingers smearing red paints on this very bench that would definitely illicit disapproving sighs from you because red on white stands glaring to the eyes, and i might’ve considered changing it just to suit your tastes if you were here. but ifs are never realities. this reality takes shape in the day you met me again, with a foreign look, almost a sick politeness in place of that affection you once held in your eyes, preserved for only me when it was just us two.

after that fated meeting, i indulged in my overwhelming moods a little. i painted this bench red when i decided on dedicating it to be all that my bleeding heart is, for it shows off shades of uneven reds, wounded with imperfections and lonesome against the white walls of our dreams behind my back. still, by allowing constant turns of my head, i’ve been associating you with everything around me. it’s an act that should be forbidden if i want you and i to truly move on. then again, if isn’t this reality. i want to feel sorry for myself, this time, for being unable to make that if into a reality.

the shade casts a looming sorrow on my hunched figure: your heart is obliviously white to an incomplete crimson that is mine.