Now that she's back in the atmosphere
With drops of Jupiter in her hair.
She acts like summer and walks like rain
Reminds me that there's a time to change.
Since the return from her stay on the moon,
She listens like spring and she talks like June.

But tell me, did you sail across the sun?
Did you make it to the Milky Way,
To see the lights all faded,
And that heaven is overrated?

Tell me, did you fall for a shooting star?
One without a permanent scar?
And did you miss me
While you were looking for yourself out there?

Dear Diary,

It's been a while since I wrote here. Looking back, the last entry was about two weeks ago. I apologise thoroughly for this but now I need you more than ever. If I don't tell someone how I feel, I might just explode with emotion. I can't keep this all bottled up forever. Someone might notice.

As you can tell, I'm in one of my blacker moods. I don't understand it. I've read every book and tried every potion under the sun but nothing seems to help. Nothing ever changes. The chasm of crushing lonlieness just grows every day.

Santana's not helping either. She's been so happy since she returned from the Quidditch World Cup, even though it ended in disaster. I don't want to ruin her fun with my misery but she's making me feel endlessly worthless. Every time I try to tell her my feelings, she just pushes me aside and keeps talking about Quidditch. My girlfriend won't even listen to me any more. I guess that proves how worthless I really am.

I'm glad that Santana got to go, don't get me wrong. This is one of the best memories she's ever had. I just wish she'd move on. It's over now. She's been talking about it for months. And the Triwizard tornament is getting ever closer. Madame Pomfrey's warning me about all the healing spells and incantations I'll have to learn and the most simple one is completely out of my reach. Even hours of practising doesn't seem to help, especially when they cut into my sleeping hours, which are few and far between anyway. I fell asleep in Transfiguartion yesterday and almost got a detention with McGonnagal. I was only saved because Neville managed to blow up his pin cushion. Thank God.

I think Santana met a boy when she went to The World Cup. If she's not talking about brooms or players or the 'best snitch catch in a century', she mentions a person named Jeffery that was in the tent next to her. When I asked her about Jeffery, she said they were just friends. And then they became penpals. Who signed their letters with kisses. Santana hasn't kissed me in a month. Not even a peck on the cheek. She didn't seem to miss me during the holidays, but I ache with longing every time she leaves me. Diary, I think I'm losing her. What do I do? I feel so hopeless. I need a friend but you're the best I can get.

I've got to go now. I can hear someone coming up the stairs and no one should see me like this.

Yours always,

Edmund.