Disclaimer: Not mine.
Another birthday is here. My twenty-first, to be exact. I probably should be more excited, but lately I haven't had anything worth celebrating, and my birthdays never were anything to rave about.
I'm certainly not expecting anyone to congratulate me on living another year. The hullabaloo after I saved the world lasted all of a month before everyone went back to their own lives and forgot about The Boy Who Lived.
Ron and Hermione might remember my birthday, but they'll be too busy with their kids to do anything about it. Hermione might send me a belated card, but it's just not the same as it used to be.
The Dursleys are just glad that I moved out of their house and out of their lives – I certainly won't be getting any greetings from them.
Hagrid will send me a letter, just like every year, but even he's become distant lately.
I have nothing and no one. I certainly don't have you.
It's my own fault, I know it. I treated you badly, and you left me. You had every right – I don't blame you one bit. I blame myself. You would have hung in there. You would have stayed with me to the end, but I made the foolish mistake of telling you that I didn't need your help.
Unfortunately, I needed your help more than I wanted to admit.
I'm sure you knew it, too. You knew all along, but I couldn't let you see how I felt, how I really felt.
What am I expecting you to say, anyway? "I love you even though you're the most insensitive jerk I've ever met?" Yeah, right.
After you left – correction, after I chased you away – I wasn't the same. Nothing was the same. I tried to apologize, but I hurt you too badly. I'll never forget what you said to me that day, your brown eyes filled with sadness, your auburn hair stirring in the breeze.
"When you're ready to admit that you're afraid, let me know."
And then you walked away.
I let you walk away.
I was afraid. I was more afraid than I'd ever been in my entire life. I was more afraid of what loving you would mean than I was of the impending war. Voldemort could take my life, but you would take my heart. You did take my heart, and you never gave it back.
I was a mess of emotions. I wanted you to stay, but I was so scared of what it might mean. What if Voldemort hurt you? What if I hurt you? What if you hurt me? What if I lost you? What if I lost your love?
In the end, I lost you anyway. I lost you because of my own stupid fear.
I didn't deserve you
in the first place.
I love that picture of us. It's just a plain old Muggle snapshot of the two of us on a snowy day in Hogsmeade, holding hands and grinning like idiots. I can see the spark in your eyes, the contentment on my face. We were happy, we were in love. Do you remember? That picture reminds me of what could have been, what we could've had if I hadn't been so stupid.
You used to be able to read my mind. We could finish each other's sentences. We were like two halves of the same person. You completed me. You were the missing piece. Why did I let it all go? Why didn't I just admit that I was afraid?
I'm afraid. I'm so afraid. Please come back. I promise I won't hurt you this time. I'm admitting it now, but it's too late.
I'd never forgive myself if I hurt you again. I still haven't forgiven myself for hurting you before. You didn't deserve my rejection, my fear, my insecurities. You deserved so much more than I could give you.
If I could just see you one more time, I know what I would say.
I love you. I'm sorry. Forgive me.
I would sacrifice the last remaining shred of my dignity just to have you by my side again. Just to have the chance to tell you the truth.
"When you're ready to admit that you're afraid, let me know."
I'm afraid. I'm so afraid.
I'll be here this time. I promise I will. I won't run away, I won't turn you away. I won't make you cry. I'm afraid of what may come, but we can face it together.
I love you. Forgive me.
Will you give me the chance to say what's on my heart? Will you give me the forgiveness I'm begging for?
I'm afraid, and I'm letting you know.
Will you come back?
FIN