Dear Harry,

Dear Harry,

          How are you? Going about your business, I assume. You're always getting into trouble, one way or another. I still hope you're having a good time.

As I said before, how are you? How is everything? I hope everything is going okay. I would love to tell you what's going on in my life and how I'm doing, but I know you won't be interested…

…maybe you'll never be interested.

Somehow, in my eyes, you seem much older now. Older beyond your age, actually. I can't explain it—but now there's a certain air of maturity about you now. I hope it's not a bad sign. You've been through a lot of hardships lately. And I know that you've been keeping all your hurts inside you, even though you don't tell anyone. Not even to your closest friends.

I even wonder to myself why I know so much about you when we hardly even talk to each other. I don't know the answer to that. I know. For some bizarre reason, I just know. I know you, Harry. Even if you don't know me.

Whenever I see you…it's amazing. Every time I had convinced myself that I was over you, you would do some incredible deed and I'd fall all over again. I have realized that trying to get over you is futile. You unconsciously wield the power to make my heart race, and you too hold the power to make me happy, or sad, or depressed.

That's quite a dangerous power, indeed, holding a woman's heart. Don't you agree? Oh, I remember: you don't even know. Don't even care if you do.

The exhilarating happiness that possesses me when I see you is quickly replaced with a burning shame—the knowledge that I do not deserve you. I often dream about it, but I cannot believe someone like you will be able to love someone like me. It's simply impossible, even bordering on the ridiculous.

As much as I would like to watch you even longer, my shame overtakes me. I always turn around and walk away as far as I could from you. I know it sounds cliché, but you have always been so near yet so far from me. It's been a cruel trick of fate. It always has been with my 'relationship' with you.

I hope you learn many things as you go along, Harry. I hope you learn to live and love more, everyday Harry. I hope you do not forget me—even a fleeting moment of me in your mind will do. Go on, Harry. Walk on. Walk on and don't look back. Don't look back, and make my heart break even more.

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I guess in all of the HP characters, I sympathize with Ginny the most. There's no denying that I've been through similar experiences like her (except, of course, being possessed by Lord Voldemort, but I guess I'm evil as I am). We both have journals that get us into trouble.

 I guess all of us have unsent letters to the ones we love…because we're too cowardly to say it straight out to them. *Sigh*I guess this fic is bordering too closely on reality. Please read and review, thanks. I think I'm posting a piece of my soul here.

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An excerpt from the short story "First Love (A Confession)" by Frank Harris

(Feel like adding it here, sorry)

"…You brought the wild fresh air of struggle and triumph into my close narrow life, and I made a hero of you…I've stopped in the hall to talk to your coat. How I used to kiss and stroke it and put my cheek against it and whisper sweet things to it! 'Tell him, dear coat,' I used to say, 'that I love him, and he mustn't be sad or lonely. Tell him—tell him that I love him.'"

I can imagine Ginny doing that. I really do.