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.
------
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.
-----
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.