So I took the Pottermore’s Patronus Quiz, and the first instruction was: “Think of your happiest memory.”
Naturally (or weirdly?) the image that popped up in my head was us (yes, me and you. You know who you are. This is another post for you, after all) lounging lazily in bed. One of those rare good days where the world doesn’t matters and our problems ceased to be. One of those rare times when we could just forget about everyone else and get lost in each other. One of those occasional tranquillity that we desperately clinged on to.
And I miss those. Of course I do. I miss our shared moments, our ephemeral reprieve, and evanescent serendipity. Those are really hard to come by, especially in times like this. When human beings I’m emotionally invested in and unquestionably trust is a scarcity.
(Don’t worry, though, I’m not going to blame you for my current inability to develop anything more than a frivolous crush and short lived attractions.)
(I do blame you, however, for the bar you’ve raised waay over anyone’s head. Really. How are they supposed to compete with that?)
Then again, maybe I’m just being overly sentimental, thanks to your sudden
uninvited reappearance. Or how you’ve been invading my dreams (What deal have you cut with Morpheus, dearest swindler?) and invoking feelings I thought I no longer capable of (for you, at least.)
Maybe that’s the deal, though. You make me feels again. And I kind of miss that, the pandemonium and surprises, the highs and the crashes afterwards, Delirium and Despair.
I’ll admit, a tiny part of me is tired of being numb. And it miss the emotional roller coasters you would surely provide.
A saner part of me think it’s not going to worth it, though.
À la mort,
I think you no longer worth it, Johnny boy. And it’ll take a hell lot of everything to convince me otherwise.