#( proposal. )

1925 South-African flag proposal.

1925 South-African flag proposal.

Iberian Union (Portugal + Spain) Flag Proposal.

@doeeyedevans​

“You don’t recognize the biggest day of your life, not until you’re right in the middle of it. The day you commit to something or someone. The day you get your heart broken. The day you meet your soul mate. The day you realize there’s not enough time because you wanna live forever.” —Grey’s Anatomy

( two weeks before, march the first of nineteen seventy-nine. )

People walk, people talk. There’s nothing more normal and common than walking in the middle of the street, just hanging out, while listening some chit-chat around one corner or the other. It’s perfectly fine and everybody is doing it, except someone isn’t. Nothing odd about that, it’s just one good-looking man sitting in a corner and reading, and reading (he’s probably waiting for someone or something) - until he isn’t anymore, and he’s smiling, and smiling, and running, all other things forgotten. 

( three months and three weeks before, december the twenty-fourth. )

December was a nice month, the perfect month, to make promises and proposals - at least that was what they said. He totally didn’t, and wouldn’t for a long time. He had done all the planning, stressed his friends over and over about all the tiniest details, but when the moment had come all the trains going in the “Jily” (stupid Moony and his nicknames) came to a stop. It wasn’t like he had chickened out (he was not afraid to propose to Lily, nor to commit) - it just didn’t feel right. When he had opened his mouth the night before, about to kneel and speak, the only thing that had come out was “So, nice dinner, uh?”. Like he had ever thought about any food he was eating in the two seconds before finishing off the whole meal. It had seemed to him all to wrong and fixed and not his. He would not know if Lily’s face would have brightened up, or if they would have danced in the snow, or if she would have said yes. He wouldn’t, and in that moment, in front of the tiny little fire he had just lightened up, he didn’t care at all.

( two weeks before, march the first of nineteen seventy-nine. )

James Potter was running like his life depended on it, and perhaps it did. So he ran, and ran, and ran, until he found what he was looking for - who he was looking for, the tiny redhead with a blue hat who was in the middle of something (he should have known, perhaps he did, but that didn’t matter in that moment), until the “James, what are yo-” was stopped with a kiss. “You’re the light. You always have been, and always will be.”

In the streets, as walkers walked by, a book remained under a tree, still opened on a page with a quote underlined despite the wind, as if neither nature wanted to interfere. 

                                               “She burned too bright for this world.”