everybody has a chapter they don't read out loud

“Yes, I write songs. I want to be a musician someday.”

Dayanara nodded once in response, forming a friendly smile, “It varies. I sometimes write about nature. There are days that I write about feelings and people as well.” She admitted with a small shrug, “Whenever inspiration strikes, I guess. Is there something that you enjoy doing?”

“Do you have any songs in your book right now?”

Despite it was a very different thing from what Morgan was used to, she was curious to hear more about writing songs. She could not help but wonder what songs the other could come up with about feelings or people. At the other’s question, she looked up and shrugged.

“I’m sure they have.” Dayanara grinned and nodded.

“Uh-huh. Well, I mean… It’s just that…” She paused for a moment, slowly shrugging her shoulders and sighing, “I’m scared of falling off the broom, you know? I get we are going to learn everything about flying but I’m scared I might messed up?”

She hummed at the other and gave a small shrug. It was not a fear she shared, but she could see it may be a worry for some of her classmates.

BLUE.         cloudless  sky.   ocean  waves.    winter  dusk.    deserted  rest  stops.    dust  filled  book  jackets.    sea  salt  in  your  lungs.   open  space  lofts.    mountainside  meditation.    empty  ski  lodges.   calm  before  storms.   electric  charged  air.   lighthouses.    road  trips  with  no  destination.    desert  skies.    summer  breeze  through  a  cottage  window.    cool  air  against  water  soaked  skin.    seaside  towns  during  off  season.   wind  chimes.   big  bed  with  lots  of  blankets.   coming  home  after  a  long  time  away.   a  wolf  howling  in  the  distance.    fingers  dancing  along  spine.    a  hug  from  an  old  friend.   afternoon  tea.    wild  flowers  off  abandoned  highways.

RED.         wine  soaked  lips.   internalised  rage.    blood  on  knuckles.   four  poster  beds.    barefoot  on  marble  floor.    velvet  drapes.    lipstick  marks.    murder  mysteries.    old  barns  with  hay  lofts.    mouth  full  of  weapons.    possessive  love.    dark  chocolate.    apple  orchard  visits.    handwritten  letters.    fresh  strawberry  fields.   cherry - flavoured  chapstick.   soft  candlelight.   vintage  pumps.    tingles  over  your  body.    strong  but  gentle  hand  around  your  throat.   scarf  tied  over  your  eyes.   fog  on  a  rainy  night.    intimate  bar  settings.    complete  destruction.    kiss  swollen  lips.    scratches  against  flesh.   sitting  by  a  fireplace.    blood  orange  sunsets.

YELLOW.         community  gardens.    sunflower  seeds.    open  fields.    blowing  dandelion  fluffs.    bubbles  in  spring.   warm  champagne.    draughty  cottages  opened  after  winter.    soft  buzzing  near  your  ear.   loose  braids.    flaxen  sundresses.    handmade  straw  hats.   warm  butter  on  fresh  toast.    daisy  chains.   drum  circles.   sun  on  your  face.   maypoles.    outdoor  festivals.    street  food.    car  shows.    pop  art  drawings.   fruity  flavours.   mist  on  produce.    running  through  sprinklers.   cucumber  water.    wrap  around  porches.   worn  pages  of  a  book.    honey  in  tea.    yard  sales.    freckled  skin.    tarnished  gold  lockets.    angel  food  cake.   windmills.   flashlight  beams.

GREEN.         marshy  swamps.   cajun  recipes.    haunted  graveyards.    old  road  signs.   the  house  people  tell  stories  about.    lights  flickering.   jazz  music.   twig  snapping.   campfires.    ghost  stories.    urban  exploration.    vines  creeping  up  brick.    wooden  flutes.   quiet  forests.   laboured  breaths.    hiking  trails.    rain  on  leaves.    bonfires.    fresh  smoothies.   water  logged  grottoes.    painful  whispers  from  jealous  lovers.    successful  business  ventures.    leaky  cellars.    park  theatre  productions.   mint  scented  lotions.   ambitions.    promises.    pine  needle  covered  floors.    oil  lanterns.    aloe  on  warmed  skin.    crushing  floral  foam.   forgotten  flowers.

BLACK.         crinkle  of  leather  jacket.   midnight  walks.    bulbs  burning  out.   black  lacquered  nails.    the  sound  of  bats  screeching.    distant  marching  band  music.    noises  when  you’re  home  alone.   blood  soaked  knife.   dark  lipstick  on  pale  skin.    scent  of  sulphur.   soot  on  boots.   slasher  movies.   glint  of  cat  eyes  in  the  dark.   oil  slicks  on  dark  asphalt.    basement  bedrooms.    investigating  a  noise.    grainy  camera  footage.   black  and  white  photos.    dust  filled  attics.    empty  theatres.    whistling  in  the  middle  of  the  night.   scratches  at  your  window.    wrought  iron  gates.  lace  neck  ruffles.   long  floor  sweeping  skirts.    broken  music  boxes.    music  scratching  on  vinyl.    lost  memories.   disembodied  voices.   forgotten  faces.

WHITE.        crisp  scents.    laundry  on  a  line.    fleece  blankets.   brightly  lit  hospital  rooms.    empty  train  stations.    genuine  laughter.   feathers  against  skin.    new  life.    cotton  dresses.    log  cabins  in  winter.    swan  gliding  through  water.   harp  music  floating  through  the  air.   plane  rides  for  fun.    mountain  tops.    ice  sculptures.    first  snowflake  of   winter.    linen  freshly  pressed.    the  scent  of  a  running  dryer.   vanilla  and  cinnamon  milk.   a  smile  from  a  stranger.   letters  in  the  mail.   a  longing  finally  satiated.    kiss  of  moonlight  on  skin.   fresh  canvas.    snow  glittering  like  diamonds.    paint  strokes.   pretty  lie  told  from  a  kind  mouth.   sparklers.   coffee  foam  art.

TAGGED  BY  :  @lunakinetic​

“Oh… Okay. Good for you, I guess.”

As she finally finished eating, Dayanara took the apple and put it inside her pocket, shrugging at the question.

“I can’t cook my own so this is the only chance to try every meals I receive. I know our common room is close to kitchens but… You know me, I’m not that much of a picky-eater.” She admitted, standing up and gathering her own books, “I can sit and rest for while, though I’m really nervous about flying for the first time.”

“You should try go to the kitchen. They always have something nice to try out.”

She clasped the bag before turning her attention back to the other with a raised eyebrow.

“You’re nervous about flying? Don’t you think it’s going to be brilliant? I hope we get to fly around the castle grounds.”