A/N: Originally posted on HPFF on 3/28/16. Written for TidalDragon's Knockout Challenge Round One.
"Tom." I whisper his name, and the soft syllable teases me with tantalizing promises.
I will be with him soon.
He's not here. Of course. But we will be together soon enough. I am getting my hour of sunshine; the diary is under my bed.
"Shall we go up to your room?" The girl thinks she knows what I want. How could she? Nobody can understand the connection I share with Tom.
The girl looking down at me means well, but she cannot help me. I force a polite smile and wave her away.
I watch the girl as she walks, confident and capable in her spotless green robes. I stay seated in my spot on the grounds where nothing can reach me.
I am on my own, but never truly alone. He is always there. Tom always says just what I need to hear; his thoughts weave themselves through the pages that my longing fingers trace, through the corners of my soul where nobody has ever thought to shine a light.
I speak to the empty air and nobody hears. "The nightmares are getting worse."
There has never been a more sincere truth uttered by my lips.
"I know I cannot be with you all the time, but when we are apart the minutes feel like years." My lips warp into a hungry smile as I think of what I will write to Tom when I get his diary back in my hands.
Words are everything. Tom writes the most beautiful words. The ink twists and turns in destructively seductive patterns.
There are words stamped on a bracelet around my wrist - "Ginevra M. Weasley, Pt. 19226 [Date of Birth: 08.11.81 Date of Admission: 07.12.94] - Chronic Hallucinatory Psychosis."
The ink twists and turns in destructively seductive patterns.
Tom writes the most beautiful words.
Words are everything.
My lips warp into a hungry smile as I think of the what I will write to Tom when I get his diary back in my hands. "I know I cannot be with you all the time, but when we are apart the minutes feel like years." There has never been a more sincere truth uttered by my lips.
"The nightmares are getting worse." I speak to the empty air and nobody hears.
Tom always says just what I need to hear; his thoughts weave themselves through the pages that my longing fingers trace, through the corners of my soul where nobody has ever thought to shine a light. He is always there.
I am on my own, but never truly alone.
I stay seated in my spot on the grounds where nothing can reach me. I watch the girl as she walks, confident and capable in her spotless green robes.
I force a polite smile and wave her away. The girl looking down at me means well, but she cannot help me. Nobody can understand the connection I share with Tom. How could she?
The girl thinks she knows what I want. "Shall we go up to your room?"
I am getting my hour of sunshine; the diary is under my bed. But we will be together soon enough.
Of course.
He's not here.
I will be with him soon.
I whisper his name, and the soft syllable teases me
with tantalizing
promises.
"Tom."