When she was fine, she longed for the pain. When she had the pain, she longed for happiness. When she liked him, she desperately cried and wished to be over him. When she reached to point of finally being over him, she longed to be in love with him again.
It went on like this for months. A vicious cycle of confusion and indecisiveness; over and over and over. It grew to the point where she was completely unsure of anything that concerned him. Whether or not she actually liked him, whether or not she wanted to regain his friendship, whether or not if she even knew who he was anymore. Was it worth it to even try and talk to him? Would the inevitable heartbreak and letdown and disappointment be worth the hours and hours and hours of mustering up the courage to finally send an owl? A message that would simply say "hi" and nothing more. A message that would have her freaking out until he replied, if he ever replied.
When she had him, she was disappointed and unhappy and complaining. He wasn't good enough for her. When she lost him, she fell deeper into despair and hatred and self-pity. She blamed herself for losing him. For losing his friendship. For losing the one person who she actually cared what he thought of her. For losing the one person she felt like she could tell anything too, but rarely did. She blamed herself for being too distant and too bitchy and too blind to see what she had when she had it.
When she finally was able to claim, as truthfully as she could, that she was actually, legitimately over him, she still felt the emptiness. The emptiness in her life caused by the lack of him. The emptiness that she had felt for so long. She still thought of him, constantly. Constantly, her thoughts were plagued by the person who she was over. The person who she hadn't had a real conversation with in months.
And after a few days, she would trip and fall right back to where she had been before: in love with him again and despairing.
Eventually, she would feel the dull ache cease and her thoughts of him ease up slightly. Eventually, she would long to feel in love again.
And it went on like this, over and over and over. The vicious cycle of confusion and indecisiveness would continue on and on.
It hadn't stopped yet, and she wasn't sure if it ever would.
The pain was so familiar, she had forgotten what it felt like to be unbroken.
She was broken, and she wasn't sure if she even ever wanted to be whole again.
This could apply to any character, really. I just started writing without even thinking about what So... All things in the universe of magic and the unset pairing belong to JK Rowling
As I read the completed product, though, Hermione/Ron just kind of throws itself out at me.
I don't know why.
Word count: 481