Disclaimer: I'm not sure that I need this, because the poem could have
really been about almost anybody, but I imagined this as Ginny
speaking. Neither Ginny or Harry belong to me.

I look through the window
That stands between me and you
I can see you
silhouetted against the light within
But I cannot reach out
to caress your features
to feel your very essence

I know that if I try
All I will feel will be
the sharp, sweet coldness
of the glass
stinging my fingertips
and even the fire consuming my heart,
and the warth
flooding through my body
Cannot melt it away.
Through these endless years of waiting,
the coldness
will seep through my veins
turning my blood to an icy silver
making its way
To my beating heart
but although my body may freeze
It cannot dampen the fire I hold.

My skin may leave marks
upon the windowpanes
which you will only wash away
If ever you notice

I can hear the tones of your voice,
echoing through my ears
But though I cup my ear to the glass
I cannot distinguish your words
stifled in the glass
That stands between me and you.

And I know that at any moment
You may shut the curtains
and block yourself from view

and I will wait
for the curtains to let light out
to me, shivering in the darkness.
I will wait.
But though I may wait into eternity
All my reward may just be
to see
Your shadow on the curtains.