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To All the Boys

A broken heart is sometimes healed within two days. Sometimes two weeks. Sometimes two months. Sometimes two years. But sometimes never.

It sounds really cheesy, but it's true. Honestly. I know I'm young and I probably sound like one of those ditsy teenagers. "Oh my God, I might as well kill myself now. I have nothing to live for anymore." Blah blah blah, blubber and moan. Maybe I am one of those ditsy teenagers. I don't want to kill myself, because nothing is worth that, but honestly, I don't know when I'm going to get over this.

You see, it all started with a boy. A beautiful, wonderful boy with dark hair that stuck out at all sorts of angles and amazing emerald eyes. And a small lightning-bolt shaped scar just to the right of the center of his forehead.

It was amazing. It was wonderful. It was the most beautiful thing I'd ever been a part of. Then things turned sour.

Once Dumbledore died, Harry changed. He was afraid to be with me because he didn't want to see me hurt. I can see that, but I don't care.

Guys always say girls are so complicated because we have such huge mood swings. Sometimes we love them and have eyes only for them, and the next minute we're hanging on some other guy and we're mad at them. Some of us can be like that, I'll admit it. But most of us aren't. We just want to let out our feelings. We want to keep you informed as to what's going on. I know, I know, sometimes it's more confusing because we let out all of our feelings. It's just this huge onslaught of tears and laughs and giggles and evil sniggers and nasty comments and hugs and everything all combined into one. But if you hate it this much, imagine how we feel?

Well, if guys think girls are confusing, they should take a look at themselves. We show all of our emotions, but you guys don't show anything. You're so secretive. You rarely ever cry, and when you do, it's because there's something in your eye. I never know what's going through your head.

We girls would give anything to know what you're thinking. Do you like us? Do we look good in our new skirts? Are we the ones you want to hold? Do you really love us like you say you do? Are we your only one?

So if you could somehow put a tape recorder in your brain that will tell us what you're thinking, that would be great.

Much love,
Ginny