Petrified
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No one must ever know, but…
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I sit here beside you, in the dark of the night, watching your features set in stone
It's you who have been petrified – so why do I hide away behind a glacial 'mask'?
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I gaze into your unobservant eyes, staring into some far distant land no one can follow you to.
It's you who have been petrified – so why do my eyes hold nothing but emptiness?
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I touch your hand, resting on the sheets beside you – it's cold, rigid even.
It's you who have been petrified – so why am I dazed like this, too numb to break free?
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I watch your chest, not moving with respiration – remaining still in its place.
It's you who have been petrified – so why do I feel as if my every breath freezes in my throat?
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I check for your pulse, but find none – no reflection of your heartbeat moving your impure-blood along beneath my fingertips.
It's you, who have been petrified – so why does my heart feel so cold, unmoving and lifeless?
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I told people I wished for just this to happen – I never thought I would regret to see my wish fulfilled.
It's you who have been petrified – and now I realise it's you whom I miss all day, wherever I go; your bossy voice, bushy hair and annoying arrogance.
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It's you, who got turned into stone.
So why does the sight of you, the very thought you might never move again – leave me – petrified?
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Disclaimer: Unfortunately I don't own the characters. They belong to J. K. Rowling – as you all know.