Some things are best unsaid. Well, that's what they say. But not in my case. I should've have told that boy I loved him. How just being in the same room as him made me act completely different. How my heart jumped, how my palms sweated, how my eyes lit up.
How my whole movement, the way I held myself, the way I talked just changed. How elated, euphoric and upbeat I was whenever he was around.
How waking up and knowing he was alive and breathing was just the most fantastic feeling I'd ever experienced.
How he was never off my mind.
When I found out about his marriage to the Weasley girl, I almost blacked out.
My heart just ached, my eyes felt like they had paper cuts from the endless tears.
The pain, the worthlessness, hopelessness, uselessness.
I stopped talking to people, and eventually stopped going out.
For months and months and months, my whole life was just pain.
It was like an endless sea of misery, drowning me; the heartbreak flowing through me like icy waves.
And now I'd been told of his child.
This was the end.
I could just about live with his marriage to someone else; because deep down, after all that went on between us, I always thought there was some way we could be together.
A tiny glimmer of pathetic hope, but enough to make me hold on.
Not now though, not now he had a child.
He would never leave a family he'd lovingly created for someone who couldn't give him one naturally.
Even if he could, I couldn't live with the living proof of his love for someone else.
I couldn't live with a child bearing part of my love, that wasn't created with me.
That couldn't be created with me.
This was the end.
It had to be.
A few drops.
That's all it would take.
A few drops, a few seconds.
All the pain would be gone.
3, 2, 1.
No more pain.
No more suffering.
The end.