For EpiCat's Word of the Day Challenge. This one isn't included in the challenge, I just really wanted to write this as an introduction.
Words don't come easily to him, that he knows.
Words come flying to her a mile a minute; he knows that as well.
It's difficult for him to sum up his time with her, his feelings for her, or really anything to do with her in words. He can't write beautiful, descriptive paragraphs like she does. He can't begin to capture the passion threaded through everything she composes; even during classes where he wishes he could watch paint dry instead of sit there, there's a light in her eyes as she scribbles countless notes.
So when he looks back on his memories with her, he isn't inspired to pen the loveliest prose or offer a heart wrenching romance novel. Certain things just stick out to him, single words that are ingrained in his memory that call upon an image of her.
Frankly, he prefers it that way – he doesn't want to express himself in journals, proclaiming his everlasting love for her from afar. He wants to experience those moments, look back on them and live in them as they were. He wants Hermione – flawed, bookish, fantastic, beautiful Hermione. He doesn't want to write her, invent some portrayal of her to suit anyone who could come across it.
Yes, he wants her.
Words come easily to her, that she knows.
Words don't come to him so much, as he doesn't often search for them. She figured that out a while ago; she thinks it's because he doesn't know they'll be waiting for him if he dares to look.
She uses her ability to wield language to make sense of things – to simplify complexity, to understand what is and isn't meant to be understood. Her brain processes information, puts every piece of knowledge it encounters into its place.
But when it comes to him, the whole system collapses.
She isn't capable of putting him into a shiny box that explains the phenomenon of his existence. She can't process the things he does, the way he makes her feel. When they're together, it's something that is exhilarating and confusing and entirely unknowable.
It's just Ron, it's just Hermione, and there's nothing else that can describe it.
So when she thinks of him, all the time she's spent with him, her mind is just a mess of failed attempts to categorize it. She realizes that once a word or feeling has triggered a memory, all that matters is that memory. All that matters is the way it makes her feel, and the way that he continues to make her feel every day that she is lucky enough to be near him.
Yes, she loves to be near him.
A/N: Thanks for reading! I hope it was enjoyable. I wrote it fairly quickly so I hope I didn't miss anything when I edited. Please review/follow/favorite if you feel at all inclined to do so, and also please read the first chapter which is already up. AHH I'm so excited my first Romione fic. Haha I hope I did them justice. Love y'all.