Sofia, July/what ever year
Dear Hermione,
Days without you here, in Bulgaria are sad. So I wrote you a poem:
Different Kind of Love
You know I do cry sometimes
But you can't feel
I would like to know
If you cry sometimes for me, too
I feel your hands on my shoulders
Sometimes when I sleep
But than I realize that it's just
Wind floating the mountains
And it comes, as a death
My lust for you
And it goes, but really slow and
Painful
Love you forever,
Viktor Krum