26/11/1991

You should have seen the look on Daphne's face at dinner tonight. She was so happy. She was happy that I had made her sister happy. Apparently, Astoria loved the gift I had sent for her birthday…

I feel a bit guilty. The letter didn't even contain my own thoughts. I had to get help from a friend. I feel so stupid. I'm practically engaged to her, and I couldn't even remember that her eyes are dark green. The only thing I actually did think of was to send a phoenix quill. I don't know if she's read about phoenixes or not, but if she has then I've just promised our relationship to be eternal… and I don't even like her…

Crabbe and Goyle think it will change in time, that we're still young but naturally it will happen. I hope they're right, but I fear they're wrong. Even Harry's managed to become at least friends with a girl and he's been locked up for most of his life, but I can't even talk to a girl without getting annoyed. It's they're voice, I think. It's too high. It's too sharp… Maybe some girls are just too happy… My friends think this annoyance is a good thing, and maybe they're right. Maybe that annoyance will turn into interest someday.

But right now I just feel broken, like a calligraphy quill that uses the wrong font or a spell that only works half the time. Really, I've been able to write poems right and left about my family, my friends, my problems, but when it came to Astoria I couldn't even write a basic letter without help. Granted, I do care for my friends more than I do about her and the things I tend to write poems for are more intense or passionate, but if I'm going to write a poem about anyone it should have been her. Not my father. Not Harry. Not my friends. But her… and yet I couldn't… I've failed.

Here's to what's been broken and to which can be fixed.

-Draco