"I spent five years in the infirmary but he never sent me letters." -"Le Monster" My Favorite
The walls of my room are white. I can see a bug crawling on the west one. I have no pictures. It's raining; I want to be warm. I'm curled up in bed, trying to write it down.
He never came back. He wasn't real; I don't think he truly existed. He was just a memory–but a good one.
The floor was wet, and the sewage mingled with my tears.
Sometimes I feel like singing. I dated a boy who Ron didn't like very much. I didn't like him either, but that wasn't the point. The point was to forget, but it didn't work, and that's why I'm sitting in my bare room instead of playing downstairs. I don't feel like singing now. I want to be warm.
He had dark hair, the same as Harry's. Neither are mine. He rescued me. I'm not sure which one, though.
My memory's a little hazy. In the dark, everything is soft, edges blurred. You don't have to pretend. The light reveals the deformities, and the world looms large.
You are not mine, I am yours. I want to forget, and I pop a chocolate in my mouth. It melts, like everything does.
My tongue is too large for my mouth. I want to go home. Silly, I am home. There's a loud bang in the twins' room. I don't want to see him again. I want him to disappear. He's here, but it's not him. I want the old, not the new. I'm sick. I don't want a cold. Sometimes I lay awake and pretend he's there.
Colors...
The walls of my room are white. I think he's calling. I hate posters. I won't forget him.
He was everything.
I miss my friends. I need something warm. I don't want anyone to see me; I wish Harry was gone. Hermione won't talk to me. I wish I was a book. I don't want to forget, but Mum's calling me downstairs for dinner and I want to get warm and I wish he was here but he's not and crying won't help. I don't believe myself. A tear drops to the page.
I bought this diary because it looked like my old one. His old one? Our old one. I want to share more with him, though. I want to go home, that's what I said to the floor when he laughed. A great snake rushed and I forgot. The world was black. I think I heard his voice.
Mum's voice is getting impatient. I open my door and head down the stairs. I need something warm.
***
A Ginny fic. I was listening to the song "Le Monster" by My Favorite when the idea of this story came to me. I was greatly inspired by it, and borrowed some ideas from it, like the thought of wanting to be warm. Please tell me what you thought of this. It will be greatly appreciated.
The walls of my room are white. I can see a bug crawling on the west one. I have no pictures. It's raining; I want to be warm. I'm curled up in bed, trying to write it down.
He never came back. He wasn't real; I don't think he truly existed. He was just a memory–but a good one.
The floor was wet, and the sewage mingled with my tears.
Sometimes I feel like singing. I dated a boy who Ron didn't like very much. I didn't like him either, but that wasn't the point. The point was to forget, but it didn't work, and that's why I'm sitting in my bare room instead of playing downstairs. I don't feel like singing now. I want to be warm.
He had dark hair, the same as Harry's. Neither are mine. He rescued me. I'm not sure which one, though.
My memory's a little hazy. In the dark, everything is soft, edges blurred. You don't have to pretend. The light reveals the deformities, and the world looms large.
You are not mine, I am yours. I want to forget, and I pop a chocolate in my mouth. It melts, like everything does.
My tongue is too large for my mouth. I want to go home. Silly, I am home. There's a loud bang in the twins' room. I don't want to see him again. I want him to disappear. He's here, but it's not him. I want the old, not the new. I'm sick. I don't want a cold. Sometimes I lay awake and pretend he's there.
Colors...
The walls of my room are white. I think he's calling. I hate posters. I won't forget him.
He was everything.
I miss my friends. I need something warm. I don't want anyone to see me; I wish Harry was gone. Hermione won't talk to me. I wish I was a book. I don't want to forget, but Mum's calling me downstairs for dinner and I want to get warm and I wish he was here but he's not and crying won't help. I don't believe myself. A tear drops to the page.
I bought this diary because it looked like my old one. His old one? Our old one. I want to share more with him, though. I want to go home, that's what I said to the floor when he laughed. A great snake rushed and I forgot. The world was black. I think I heard his voice.
Mum's voice is getting impatient. I open my door and head down the stairs. I need something warm.
***
A Ginny fic. I was listening to the song "Le Monster" by My Favorite when the idea of this story came to me. I was greatly inspired by it, and borrowed some ideas from it, like the thought of wanting to be warm. Please tell me what you thought of this. It will be greatly appreciated.