#gwtr

“I don’t mean it. Stay with me forever, forever, until you die, and then, still, I will keep your bones and clutch them to my breast […] I can never be Potter. I can never roll with you in the sun like a mindless golden pup. I am too old for it, for warmth and simplicity. I burn, I freeze; I am never warm. I am rigid; I forgot softness because it did not serve me. […] When I say forever,” Tom whispered, “I mean until the black death of the world. Potter means just the present moment, the flickering light of it, in a green field, his mouth on yours. He means the stretching of that moment. But forever isn’t bright; it isn’t like that. Forever is cold and hard and final.”