Sometimes remembering hurt more than the actual injuries I sustained from the war did. Sometimes, the pain of remembering threatens to crush me into nothing. At times, I still hate Voldemort with such a fury I want to kill him again. Even if I manage to not think about it during the day, I still dream about it at night. At some moments, I long for the easy days, back in my early years at Hogwarts. Some days, nothing seems worth it anymore.
Just as I'm pondering over this, Ron walks into the room, trips, hits his head of a chair, sends books and a cup of cold, forgotten tea flying and rolls on the floor, clutching his head and swearing.
These are the moments that keep me going, and remind me it'll all be okay.