It happened eight years ago. Everything that was once light in my life went out. How stereotypical of me to be so dependent on my twin. How could I let myself turn into some overwritten tragedy?
Maybe I might not feel this way if we hadn't been so close. The two of us shared everything, clothes, friends, and books; basically we shared all the necessities and means of getting by. Perhaps if we did not share so much, I might not feel so empty. Maybe if we had spent even one whole day apart before that day, this wouldn't be as hard as it is. Possibly, I would not feel like wasted space without him.
He was always the better of the two of us, even if people couldn't tell us apart. He never let anything break him, not a single thing. Not once did he drive me insane. We were so similar, yet so different. I was the calm before the storm while he was the light that broke through the darkness. Even though both are nice things, he was always the better twin. Always.
There are so many things I wish I could say to him. Maybe if I had told him some of these things he wouldn't have left me. If I had told him what I had been thinking, maybe he wouldn't have been in that corridor. How would it all have played out if I had stopped being so scared that he would think of me as weak? How would things have ended if I had told him that I love him while I had the chance?
I'm not one to be petty, bitter, or jealous, but I am. It eats away at me that I wasn't the one who he spoke to last. It kills me that I wasn't the last one to make him laugh and smile. It was Percy, and he stole those moments from me. Perhaps I shouldn't feel this way, but I do. It hurts that it happened that way, what a cruel twist of fate. I couldn't even spend his last minutes with him.
Though, I don't think I would have made it to this point if I had been there. I may not be living the way I used to be, but it was living nonetheless. If I had been there, I probably would have thrown myself in front of the next curse that had been sent or even into the acromantula's path. However, I wasn't there. I had to find him lying unbearably still on the ground.
I can still feel it. The feel of his cold body in my arms, limp and mocking me. It was as if it was some cruel metaphor shouting at me that he is gone. To hold his body, once so warm and full of mischief, and feel him grow increasingly cold was the most brutal thing I've ever been through. Nothing will ever break me as much as that did.
Break me it did. How incredibly sappy of me to be incapable of moving on! I used to make fun of people like me, the ones that cling to their misery like a drug. Now, I get it. It's not that people enjoy being miserable, they just have no idea to change. Tragedy is tragic for a reason; it doesn't just affect one person. Tragedy has consumed and torn away my happiness. It no longer feels right to laugh or to smile without him laughing along.
My family seems to think I'm wallowing, but I'm not. I'm trying so hard everyday, but I never see the results. I'm still adverse to happiness because it is difficult to be happy without him. Every morning I wake up and long to see his face, I long so much that I'm desperate. I'll sit in front of my mirror for hours, trying to delude myself into thinking that it's him starring back at me. People have no clue how insane one has to be to whisper to a reflection for hours to feel something other then gut wrenching pain.
I don't want to say no one understands what I'm going through, because that may not be exactly true. However, I have yet to meet a person who has been so affected by their grief as I have been. One might think after all this time the pain would dull, or I'd become immune to it. That is not the case, everyday I wake up and the wounds are just as fresh as the first time I felt them. Time heals all wounds, what a load of rubbish!
Some days I lose myself in what ifs. I can spend hours thinking about what life would be like with him still living. The possibilities are numerous, but they all lead to one thing- he would still be at my side, smiling and laughing away all the darkness in life. Maybe, just maybe, he should be the one here instead of me. Surely he would be able to live; he would help my family heal. Here we go again with what ifs.
Hermione once told me that his memory will forever live on, and there's really no doubt about that. However, are memories really better than the real thing? Surely a person wouldn't want to see his life through a pensive. Memories can only bring a person a certain amount of happiness. Him? With him, happiness was an endless supply.
Perhaps one day in the distant future things will be better. I could possibly look back at my teenage years and grin and laugh about the memories. For now, I will always crumple at the memories. Maybe I'll be able to pull myself out of this depression and move on in life. For today, I will barely hold on and cling to what I have left of him. Possibly I will find a beautiful bird, settle down, have kids, and the whole damn nine yards. In this moment, I will suffer behind closed doors. One day I may even be able to step into the shop and reopen it; living out our dream once again. Save for today, for I will suffer in silence from the memories of our success. Maybe in the future I can be somewhat whole again, not completely, but enough to be happy once more. Although for now, I will be the shell of the person I once was, completely broken.
Oh good Godric, I've become a cliché!