Disclaimer: I don't own anything, they all belong to their respective owners.

A/N: At first this was supposed to be part of my novel in the making, the main male protagonist in my novel wasn't grieving about lost love but rather he's having survivor's guilt. But halfway through writing, I realized that what if it's about lost love instead? and then as I listen to Ed Sheeran's songs in youtube, I stumbled upon a video with Rupert Grint in it and though of Ron. So I added a few hints of the series without ever mentioning a single character's name in it, I want to focus on not just the survivor's guilt Ron will most likely feel, but also the raw emotions of losing someone you love and the effects of it if they never recovered.


Looking at his hand that held the glass with whiskey on the rocks, absentmindedly swirling the alcohol in it with detached fascination, he let his mind linger with fleeting memories and let them haunt him like a ghost. Making the shackles of the bitter past coil around him like a snake to its prey, letting its fangs that's dripping with poison consume him and kills both his heart and soul.

Laughter, smiles and warmth that he had always felt, he allows the spirit of alcohol take over him as he drank the remaining bitter golden liquid in his throat, wiping his wet lips with the back of his sleeve.

He can't go back in time and redo everything because that's impossible, improbable, and downright suicidal. But he'd give all he has to make everything right, just so he can satisfy his very selfish heart, to satisfy his grieving heart but the logical part of him knows – stubbornly so – that's it's not enough; that he should just stop and move on. Just like everyone has been telling him. But then again, they don't know what it feels like to have his heart ripped apart from his chest, to lose a part of his soul, he loves her too much to let go, she's his life and soul-mate.

He loves her, he loves her, he loves her, and he still does to this very day. Sometimes in his dreams he sees her and envisioned their life together if she's still here. He imagined they'd have two children, a boy and a girl; sometimes they had his hair and her eyes or vice-versa. They'd also be smart like her and maybe they'd be a little gullible like him. When their oldest turn eleven, their daughter, the two of them will be at King's Cross and she will give their daughter kisses and will go on re-checking if the latter had packed everything while he will give their daughter a bear hug and maybe get a little teary.

But he knows that it's not possible, he knows that it'll never happen; he knows he can never love anyone the same way he loved her, and he will never ever find someone who's like her. His friend and lover, the only person who stood by him the most other than his best mate, the only person whom he wants to spend the rest of his life with, to built a family and home with, the one he wants to go home to, the one he wants to greet him with a kiss each time he comes home from work, talked about his day, the one he wants to kiss every morning and to make love to every night.

He loves her that it still hurts even after years had gone by since she died. His memories of her flashes in his mind like a whirlwind, he could still feel her lips in his, the warmth he felt in her presence, how he fits right in his arms and how it felt right, the smell of her, the taste of her, everything. He's losing his mind, he's going crazy and he's well aware of it. He can't move on because he doesn't want to, he doesn't want to forget her, he doesn't want to lose her.