Title: vivid supernova

Summary: / you rise higher, higher, until you are immortal, engraved onto each other's souls like ink tattoos and heart break. / James, Sirius, and painting over scars. freeverse, for ella & hpfc.

Prompts: purple, scream, ink, higher, before.

Notes: This is also for big sis, lil sis, and for camp potter. It is based off of Ella's vivid hearts, and my own faded hearts. I hope you enjoy!

"Why do two colours, put one next to the other, sing? Can one really explain this? No. Just as one can never learn how to paint." - Pablo Picasso.

He shines like fireflies in the moonlight;

he flutters and wants for nothing but ink and light and freedom.

He is like stars; fleeting and gorgeous

- all scarlet and orange and purple and harlequin -

and you want to trap him in a glass jar, keep him forever

and never let his light go out.

But boys like James Potter -

they can't be trapped by glass or dreams.

If they do, they'll scream.

.

Boys like you -

now, boys like you are clean-cut silhouettes and shadows,

not so much colour, but absence of colour,

like mauve and charcoal and purple

and midnight skies.

You are darkness but

without darkness, dear, light can't thrive.

Not so precious, not so pure, but darling, don't ever let anyone tell you

that you're not beautiful.

Sirius, you are burning cigarettes and candle wax

and silent screams

in the middle of the night.

.

When you're together,

sometimes you think of someone else

- red&green, yellow&silver -

but you soon forget in the midst of fresh paint on the canvas,

painting over scars

and sealing wax with kisses.

You are ink, swirling and smudging together,

like imperfect finger prints over purple hearts and starry shoulder blades.

Before,

you were children who picked up shining, snarling blades

instead of paintbrushes.

And look - look how you've changed!

For the better.

.

(You are a supernova.)

.

Your wings are made of wax and stars

and screaming promises.

They are vibrant and vivid and masterpieces;

you rise higher, higher, until you are immortal,

engraved onto each other's souls like ink tattoos and heart break.

You are angels, gods,

and this is the price you have paid for forever.

Your bruises shine purple and your eyes shimmer black,

because this world is not a Garden of Eden,

and there is no going back.

.

But you are vivid, beautiful -

when you fall, you don't fade and you don't scream.

Your colours sing like pastels and charcoal,

fire and fireflies and ice and silhouettes -

and blank canvases

like bed sheets.

This is your masterpiece, love.

You accept your fall from grace,

and you know you no longer need gods or immortality or blades

to keep you alive;

you just have each other.

That is enough to shine.