Hey everyone! I wrote this for the prompt of the day on Hogwarts Online. The prompt was "water under the bridge. " The song in italics is Anita's Heart by Fernando Ortega.
You walk slowly into your house, returning from yet another long day at work. And it is empty, empty, empty. Rose is gone. Gone forever. She had turned her back on everything she knew and loved, and abandoned it for folly and fear. There is no hope for her anymore.
"Are you all right, Hermione?" your husband Ron asks, "You've been going on walks by yourself quite a bit. I know you're worried about Rose, but it'll turn out in the end."
Oh, how you wish that was true.
"I'm going on a walk," you say to deflect his accusation.
"No, you're not! You've been spending far too much time by yourself in that grove. We're busy here, you know that. We're moving, remember? I need your help to pack, and box. You need to stay here. Hugo needs you! I need you! We both need you, and we need you here."
She tells you how her canyon walks
can ease a mother's fear.
The trails and big groves comfort her,
she feels close to God out there.
"I'm fine," you hear yourself say, "Those walks, they can ease my fear. Nature, it comforts me. And I feel, safe, and close to something bigger than me."
But you know it's not true. And it seems that he does too.
But that's just how she makes it through;
she's given up a lot inside.
And even in those spreading trees
she'll still break down and cry.
But he lets you go anyway. Once you get there, you sit down upon a rock, and burst into tears. The trees, they shake in the wind, crying with you. You cry and cry and cry, calling to her, to Rose, telling her to come back. To turn herself away from the crazy wild life that she has dived into. That it won't turn out well. It can't. And you kneel to the ground, your tears making little pools at your feet. And you call out, to whom you don't know.
She's praying again that her daughter will land
with both feet on the ground.
Nobody knows which, way she'll go,
or if she'll ever come around.
Maybe this time she'll finally find
the pieces that have come apart.
And there'll be no more breaking,
no more breaking either heart.
"Please, please, please. Let my Rose land with both feet on the ground. Let her not be too scarred by the terrible life she's leading. Please send her back to me! I don't know where she is right now, I don't know if she'll ever come back! Please, let her pick up the pieces of her broken life, and come back to us. Don't let her heart be broken. And don't let her break my heart!"
She carries around a photograph
of her beautiful, coltish girl.
In a big white shirt,
her head tossed back,
a free spirit in this world.
You pull out a photo of your girl. She's ten, and in the photo, she's throwing her head back, and laughing like there's no tomorrow. It breaks your heart to see how much she's changed since then. She doesn't laugh like that anymore. She has replaced genuine happiness with flirting, and drinks, and she doesn't care about you the way she used to.
You want to forget all that she's done,
and all she's compromised.
You can close your eyes
and believe that now,
she's the same girl in disguise.
And you want to forget it all; you don't want to think about it. You don't want to remember the first night that she didn't come home. You don't want to have that in your heart. Rose, she's compromised everything that she cares about for this new crazy life. You don't want to remember that she dropped out of Hogwarts. You don't want to think about how you haven't seen her in three months. So you close your eyes, and try to picture Rose as she was, not how she is now. And, you might think, that just maybe, Rose as she was, is still in there somewhere. And you cry out again.
She's praying again her daughter will land
with both feet on the ground.
Nobody knows which, way she'll go,
or if she'll ever come around.
Maybe this time she'll finally find
the pieces that have come apart.
And there'll be no more breaking,
no more breaking either heart.
"Please! Let her not be harmed by this life that she's leading. Let her choose the right way, let her come back. And please, let her find the old Rose, because I know that she is in there somewhere. And, please, please, please, let her come back to me!"
And as you cry this to the sky, you hear soft footsteps behind you.
"Mother?" she asks.
"Rose! I knew that you would come home!" you say.
"Actually, I can't. I just wanted to say goodbye to you. I'm getting married. And we're staying here. I'm not coming with you," she says, and walks away.
Her mothers heart,
wide as the sea,
would rock her back
on a rising tide.
She cradles the memory,
then lets it go,
she has to leave her girl behind.
The words are reverberating in your soul, in an endless demonic chant. I'm not coming with you, I'm not coming with you, I'm not coming with you. You have always secretly been hoping that she would come back, that she would remember how you love her, and want to return. But it wasn't meant to be. You look in the picture one last time, to see Rose as she was, and let it go. The wind carries it away. You leave the valley, without the picture, without the memory. Without Rose.
She's praying again that her daughter
will land with both feet on the ground.
Nobody knows which, way she'll go,
or if she'll ever come around.
Maybe this time she'll finally find
the pieces that have come apart.
And you know that your home will never be the same again. Rose is gone. And now you realize that she has been gone for years. But you all were just too afraid to admit it. You know that now.
And there'll be no more breaking,
there'll be no more breaking,
Years fly by, and you don't forget. But you don't remember either. You hid all the scrapbooks with Rose in them years ago. You took down all the pictures of her after that fateful day in the valley. And then you moved. You don't have a room for Rose in the new house. You have always had a room for Rose. Not anymore. You don't know how old she is; you haven't thought to keep track. You don't know if she's still married; you don't contact her to find out. You don't know if she has children; if she does, you don't care. Because it's all just a lot of water underneath the bridge that you burnt with your own hands.
And there'll be no more breaking,
no more breaking either heart.
Whoa. That came out way more depressing than I intended. Sorry peoples. Oh well. Anyway, please review and tell me what you think!