nymphadora-marie

In grade two nobody talked to me except to ask me the same question every day which was a little annoying and I never really talked much in grade 2 except to my best friend Randi because we'd always talk at recess while we were digging a hole by the baseball diamond hoping that Jessie or Shaun would step in it and hurt their ankle because they were do-do heads and we DIDN'T like them.  Shaun was REALLY good at chess and he always made fun of me for not knowing how to put the pieces on the board my FAVORITE piece was the horse so I always wanted them to go in the middle INSTEAD of the king and queen, but that's not very weird that's just this

"Nothing like this man had ever been seen in Privet Drive.  He was tall, thin and very old, judging by the silver of his hair and beard, which were both long enough to tuck into his belt.  He was wearing long robes, a purple cloak which swept the ground and high-heeled, buckled boots.  His blue eyes were light, bright and sparkling behind his half-moon spectacles and his nose was very long and crooked, as though it had been broken at least twice.  This man's name was Albus Dumbledore Let's take a moment... Take a moment to appreciate one of the most complex characters within the Magical World of Harry Potter. It's not something you notice

I feel your hand gently touch my leg, Your voice comes softly, as if talking to an infant; "Silver Punch Buggy...no punch back." The satisfaction in your voice oozes; the score is now in your favour. We stop at a light and I observe. "Blue punch buggy!"  I nudge your arm with my pinky. "No punch back!" Tied, once again. But a second look tells me otherwise. The silver buggy isn't silver at all. Noooo, it's faaaar too plain to be considered Silver. "The car isn't silver!"  I proclaim excitedly. "Grey punch buggy, no punch back!" The score is now in my favour. "I don't think I want to play anymore."  Your voice loses it's previou

Pure darkness surrounds you, There's no one around, The only noise is the "wrrrrrr..." of small wheels on concrete, Echoing through the empty streets. Your Mental Clock tells you it's going on Midnight. But who really cares? At this time, In this single moment Time is irrelevant; as is everything else. Allow your mind to go blank. Allow your feelings to drain away. Just push yourself forward. Wrrrrr...

Spiderman is someone that I grew up with. I am familiar with his existence. I am aware of his quirks, and his bizarre amount of intelligence. I am fully aware of his powers, and his ability to swoon. However, The man I am familiar with, walks without his legs actually moving, and when he shoots webs, they were rather square. And, apparently, he can make a motor boat out of them. That was the Spiderman I knew. The one that was made when Colored TV was a Big Deal. There was another, and he was kind of lame. He lacked the sexy-nerdiness that I always imagined was attached to Peter Parker. He lacked the awkwardness, a

Loki, being a deliciously creepy, and overall attractive young man, is someone I don't think is evil. More mad. Upset. Lost. If what had happened to him, Happened to you, I guarantee, You'd go after Thor too. Not because he did anything wrong, emotions do things like this. Thor is the one that was supposed to be there. He's the one everyone wanted. He's the "right guy". Loki is the stolen one, the one whose not supposed to be there. The one no one wants to be there. In short, Loki isn't completely evil, He's just in dire need of a hug. ... Maybe he's a little evil, but he'd be less so with a little acceptance.

Poetry Is one of those things that is literally everywhere. Just like math, but a lot more fun. A poem can be a sentence just randomly broken up. It doesn't have to rhyme, nor does it need any "hidden meaning". When a poem reads as follows: "the white rose fell from the sky" it is not a symbolic phrase meaning "the end of innocent" or "the death of a lady." It could. But I'm willing to bet that it means A White Rose Fell From the Sky. Seems more plausible to me.

Go Ahead, Run. Run like your life depends on it, because in a way it does. Run, and feel the cold, wet earth, beneath your bare feet. Feel the small raindrops on your face, mixing with the tears you're not aware exist. Feel the mist entangling itself into your hair, and giving everything an ominous glow. Run. Run and Feel. Run and Feel and Forget. Forget about the tests. Forget about the words she yelled, Wipe them away like specks of dust, and allow yourself to be free of their overbearing weight. Right now none of that exists.. Run. Lose your breath. Cringe as the cold air sweeps through your lungs, like a thousand sh

I feel the wind in my hair, Cold against my cheek. I feel a tingle in my toes, nerves getting the best of me. I'm not flying, no, that much is clear. I'm falling... Hard. But, I lack fear. I know you'll catch me. Well... I hope you will. If not, she's prepared with the following: a safety net for me, and a baseball bat for you

Breathing Is a wonderful thing But you're not aware of that until someone takes away your breath by simply walking in A heartbeat is marvellous , but don't hug him for too long or that shall be forgotten as well. Words! Those are fantastic! But the ones you want to say get stuck in your throat because your mind flops every time you make eye contact. Perhaps he knows this, maybe he laughs in private, of course. Perhaps he finds it Endearing, but would never admit it. Or maybe... Just maybe, he is the same way?