A/N I wrote this a while ago, for a dear, lovely and wonderful Hamlet-972, love ya
How it feels like to be lonely 30-years old Hermione Granger who lost her friend, her joy, her light, her love
Deep red liquid,
like a lake on the floor.
In the middle of it
a lonely wine glass,
or what is left of it.
Too many pieces,
you can't fix it anymore,
and when you pick it up
it'll cut your finger
like rose's thorn.
A drop of blood
will come out from the cut,
it will turn to river.
It rapes you pale hand
and falls to the floor.
Wine and blood,
like a sea on the white stone.
In the middle of it
a lonely human,
or what is left of it…
you
A/N Ya know what to do