*
You treat me terribly. You don't appreciate me. You hurt me. You are incapable of feeling. You make my heart hurt.
And I love you.
And I always will.
You're something special, really. Something rare like a prized gem in the middle of common garden rocks.
And yet sometimes loving you feels like handing you my rotting carcass on a golden plate.
And it has never felt anything but.
I hate the way you treat me. I hate the way you make me feel so worthless. I hate the way you look at me in this way that makes me feel so loved yet so deceived. I hate the way you look into my chocolate coloured eyes and say, "Darling, it'll get better."
But it never gets better, does it? You never change and you never will. And in all honesty, I'll never change either! We're both stubborn people, and we both know what we want, and we both aren't giving in. And we've never acted anything but.
You said he loved me. You said I was the best. You said I was gorgeous. You said I was wrong in loving you.
And I was wrong.
I gave you my heart. I gave you my last breath. I gave you that last gingerbread man. I gave you my favorite Christmas tree ornament. I gave you my heart.
And you gave me nothing.
If you wanted to use me, you could have told me you know. I don't mind being used, I've grown accustom to it. Really. But you could have told me. My heart didn't deserve to be confused.
I didn't deserve to be confused.
You didn't treat me like a princess, I would have liked that, you know. I would have liked to be given the jeweled tiara, and the pretty ball dress. It couldn't have been that simple though could it? Because nothing with you is 'allowed' to be that simple.
When I looked at you, your Slytherin tie all askew and the first few buttons of your oxford collared shirt undone, I saw this little boy who liked to tell me things. You were fiddling with your scarf and you said:
"I like Yorkshire pudding, what about you?"
You told me about the world, how you and your twisted little mind saw it. I never disagreed.
Your aristocratic nose was always upturned and you looked at me in this way that clearly said I was a peasant.
I didn't mind being a peasant. But you minded being the prince.
I didn't see why. I thought I understood you, Malfoy. I thought you understood me.
I loved your mind, can't say the same about your heart. You had these odd philosophies like, "Evil is as evil does" and "Compassion is taught. Evil is."
You were interesting, Dray.
You were sick and mutilated inside, but you were interesting. At one point I thought about you being a protégée, I wouldn't doubt it. Not in the slightest.
Your heart was about as good as chicken noodle soup with flies all around it. It was about as good as a beautiful dress, with mud stains all over it. It was about as good as a beautiful white rose, drawing blood.
It was ugly. It was painful. But when I accepted you, I accepted all of you. Even the bad parts. Even the sick parts. Even the hurtful parts.
I remember, just like I remember the color of pretty roses (white), I remember you told me about your Father. You were always grossly loyal. Sickening. Except to me. I wasn't worth holding on to.
You would say, "You know, Ginny-doll, it's okay, I just wish Mum could get out, she doesn't deserve that you know-"
I would nod.
I loved you because I had no one else. I loved you because you smelled of butterscotch and cinnamon. I loved you because you made me feel so desired, it appealed to me that someone would even 'want' to use me. I loved you because you were forbidden fruit.
Adam did not bite the apple because the scent and flavor of it made him wonder how amazing it tasted. But because God told Adam NOT to taste the apple. He just had to figure out that the apple was bad for him. For himself.
As we sat by the lake on that hideous green snake blanket of yours, you told me tales of forgotten lore. I never understood much, you would sort of break off and get all choked up.
"Yeah," you told me, "mum loved him. She loved the way he made her feel. Like she was the most beautiful, most special creature in the whole world. She was though, until she married him. And then to me, and the rest of the world she was ugly. Really ugly."
So that's how it was.
That's what it felt like to fall so far you've never wanted to come up for air. Again. That's what it felt to feel like you were always letting the hand that you fed bite you. That's what it felt like to feel as though every second you were with him a piece of your soul, and your core, and your morals were crumbling in this twisted heap of nothing. That's what it feels like to be in love.
I guess this is what it feels like to be dying slowly.
And some say you can't die from a broken heart.
You treat me terribly. You don't appreciate me. You hurt me. You are incapable of feeling. You make my heart hurt.
And I love you.
And I always will.
You're something special, really. Something rare like a prized gem in the middle of common garden rocks.
And yet sometimes loving you feels like handing you my rotting carcass on a golden plate.
And it has never felt anything but.
I hate the way you treat me. I hate the way you make me feel so worthless. I hate the way you look at me in this way that makes me feel so loved yet so deceived. I hate the way you look into my chocolate coloured eyes and say, "Darling, it'll get better."
But it never gets better, does it? You never change and you never will. And in all honesty, I'll never change either! We're both stubborn people, and we both know what we want, and we both aren't giving in. And we've never acted anything but.
You said he loved me. You said I was the best. You said I was gorgeous. You said I was wrong in loving you.
And I was wrong.
I gave you my heart. I gave you my last breath. I gave you that last gingerbread man. I gave you my favorite Christmas tree ornament. I gave you my heart.
And you gave me nothing.
If you wanted to use me, you could have told me you know. I don't mind being used, I've grown accustom to it. Really. But you could have told me. My heart didn't deserve to be confused.
I didn't deserve to be confused.
You didn't treat me like a princess, I would have liked that, you know. I would have liked to be given the jeweled tiara, and the pretty ball dress. It couldn't have been that simple though could it? Because nothing with you is 'allowed' to be that simple.
When I looked at you, your Slytherin tie all askew and the first few buttons of your oxford collared shirt undone, I saw this little boy who liked to tell me things. You were fiddling with your scarf and you said:
"I like Yorkshire pudding, what about you?"
You told me about the world, how you and your twisted little mind saw it. I never disagreed.
Your aristocratic nose was always upturned and you looked at me in this way that clearly said I was a peasant.
I didn't mind being a peasant. But you minded being the prince.
I didn't see why. I thought I understood you, Malfoy. I thought you understood me.
I loved your mind, can't say the same about your heart. You had these odd philosophies like, "Evil is as evil does" and "Compassion is taught. Evil is."
You were interesting, Dray.
You were sick and mutilated inside, but you were interesting. At one point I thought about you being a protégée, I wouldn't doubt it. Not in the slightest.
Your heart was about as good as chicken noodle soup with flies all around it. It was about as good as a beautiful dress, with mud stains all over it. It was about as good as a beautiful white rose, drawing blood.
It was ugly. It was painful. But when I accepted you, I accepted all of you. Even the bad parts. Even the sick parts. Even the hurtful parts.
I remember, just like I remember the color of pretty roses (white), I remember you told me about your Father. You were always grossly loyal. Sickening. Except to me. I wasn't worth holding on to.
You would say, "You know, Ginny-doll, it's okay, I just wish Mum could get out, she doesn't deserve that you know-"
I would nod.
I loved you because I had no one else. I loved you because you smelled of butterscotch and cinnamon. I loved you because you made me feel so desired, it appealed to me that someone would even 'want' to use me. I loved you because you were forbidden fruit.
Adam did not bite the apple because the scent and flavor of it made him wonder how amazing it tasted. But because God told Adam NOT to taste the apple. He just had to figure out that the apple was bad for him. For himself.
As we sat by the lake on that hideous green snake blanket of yours, you told me tales of forgotten lore. I never understood much, you would sort of break off and get all choked up.
"Yeah," you told me, "mum loved him. She loved the way he made her feel. Like she was the most beautiful, most special creature in the whole world. She was though, until she married him. And then to me, and the rest of the world she was ugly. Really ugly."
So that's how it was.
That's what it felt like to fall so far you've never wanted to come up for air. Again. That's what it felt to feel like you were always letting the hand that you fed bite you. That's what it felt like to feel as though every second you were with him a piece of your soul, and your core, and your morals were crumbling in this twisted heap of nothing. That's what it feels like to be in love.
I guess this is what it feels like to be dying slowly.
And some say you can't die from a broken heart.