Disclaimer: I'd half-way consider saying everything is mine just for a shot to meet JK Rowling. Even if it is in court. Alas, Draco and Ginny are not mine. I can't afford a lawyer.
A/N: Loosely inspired by the song "Samson" by Regina Spektor, as it was a challenge by Aerileigh in the DG Forum. I've loved the song for years anyway, I do love to write for those challenges, and it's 5 o'clock in the morning, so here goes:
Dearest Draco,
Receiving your owl today was… conflicting. Your words have always been beautiful, but today, of all days, they just broke my heart. Please pardon my rambling; there are just a lot of things I feel the need to address:
I've loved you for as long as I could remember- not forever, mind you; I just remember your hair falling into your eyes. Remember when it used to do that? Before I went at it with a knife in the kitchen at my old flat. The tungsten light flickering regularly enough that I hardly took notice, but it drove you crazy. Regardless, I knew I loved you then, and you wouldn't say it back until exactly two months later. Maybe it was just because I didn't do a very good job… maybe you never loved me at all.
Hermione was convinced the only reason I cared so much about you was because we were such a "classic love story." A regular Romeo and Juliet. I knew better, though. Neither of us have ever been idealists- we knew nothing was forever. There were no stories to be written about us. I just loved you, because of you. Because of the way you really smiled, when you were positive we were alone, and no one else could see it. Because you could make me laugh harder than anyone (excluding Fred and George, of course), and your eyes became a bit brighter when I did. The way you were so certain you knew everything, and when you didn't, you could flawlessly make it up as you went along.
You also made me cry harder than I ever thought I could. My heart would stop beating, my lungs would deflate, and I'd sob so hard I could swear my bones were breaking. I did not love you for this, as it happened too often. For all the reasons you were wonderful, I'm sure there were twice as many proving otherwise. I'd become so accustomed to over-looking them; I couldn't even begin to tell you how many there actually were.
I'm with him, now. I'm sure you know. It's all over the papers. He and I are "the classic love story." Not our kind of love story, Draco, the cliché kind, the kind we'd laugh at together. He's kind and gentle, and I know he loves me. He is so close with my family, that they already consider him to be a part of it. He is everything that you were not. But, he doesn't call me "Red." I also doubt his tiramisu is as good as yours. And he can't make me laugh until my ribs hurt. And if he left, I don't think I'd cry as hard, if at all. He is certainly not you, my love.
I wish I could run to you right now, and I'm sure you'd be more than willing to run with me. We could hide away from the world, and it would be our own love story, even if it is not the kind history books or Shakespeare would write about. But I won't. Instead, I will burn this letter, and never reply to yours. Harry will treat me right, and I'm sure I will remain happy with him. He seems like a stranger in comparison to how I knew you, but at least he will stay. I love you, Draco, but I also love someone else. Myself. And I may have loved you first, but I think it's time I loved myself more.
Love Always,
Red