“Is It Foolish To Speak Of Little Joys That Occur In The Middle Of Tragedy? It Is Our Humanity. Whatever

Ahem, I may or may not have read far too many novels recently. How do I know this? I have now developed a slight crush on my academic rival in school. Goodness.

Jealousy

Midnight parties in Wimbledon

Sketches of Julius Caesar on idle sheets of paper

Football games in Wales when it’s nearing dusk

Academic trips to South Africa in Spring

Sunsets from Roedean, on Brighton’s coast

Family pictures in front of Rad Cam in Oxford

Sushi dinners and British accents

and boys in black blazers

and evening walks to Grantchester

and Warwick in the summer months and taking pictures of the sun

and hair waving with the onslaught of wind on sunny shores

and Mediterranean villages on the sea

and 4AM strolls in Kensington and Leicester

and dinner dates in Porto Torres

and running through palm-ridden forests

and reading Dead Poets Society and the Secret History in dark corners of rooms with oak wainscoting

and Alexander in Eton tails

and-

To live so much

That I die

When I see you

*drowns myself in romanticized idealizations*

the cryptography students

messy handwriting, rushed scribbles on the page

the satisfaction of untangling a particularly difficult substitution cipher

coming up with your own codes 

half-finished crossword puzzles tucked into your bag

seeing patterns everywhere you look

analyzing how information travels from person to person through the internet

the familiar weight of a calculator in your hand

a fascination with puzzles and mysteries

secrets told in hushed whispers

valuing privacy and security

reading about the history of codes and codebreaking

applying elegant, pure math to the real world

the shining rotors of an antique cipher machine

a chessboard, frozen in the middle of an unfinished game

the elegance of a well-constructed cipher, easy to encode but difficult to break

passing encoded notes back and forth with your friends

a stack of thriller novels on your bookshelf

watching old spy movies, laughing at the inaccuracies

a powerful sense of determination, refusing to give up

understanding the importance of cryptography in the internet age

The sound was muffled; all he could see was Theo’s gorgeous eyes, looking down at his sketch. He leaned closer to see what he was drawing, placing his face closer to Theo’s. Theo smiled over yet another drawing of Alexander. Alexander looked back up at his eyes, and Theo couldn’t pretend not to notice him this time. Alexander’s face was angled in such a way that he was looking up at Theo, quite a rare occurrence. Theo looked straight into those emerald eyes that stared into his. Alexander moved so that his head rested in Theo’s lap and his legs dangled down the hill. His eyes glanced down at Theo’s lips.

Without thinking, Theo pulled his lips up to meet his, a perfect moment, a perfect moment. Warmth spread through Alexander as if he were drinking a scalding cup of hot chocolate in bed on a cold night, the warmth burning the back of his throat and spreading through his body. His hand reached up behind Theo’s head, clutching onto his tawny curls. He didn’t want this moment to end; he couldn’t let it. His mouth did not leave Theo’s, his fingers intertwined in Theo’s hair. He could feel Theo’s hand move down to his back. Their lips parted, a too-long goodbye. Theo looked at him, some sort of expression on his face, not exactly a smile. Alexander shared it. Alexander closed his eyes as Theo sprinkled magnolia leaves on his face, laughing. He knew this moment was never meant to last.

Dear June, please be good to me.

when remco campert said "poetry is an act of affirmation. i affirm that i live, that i do not live alone."

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