Lost, lost without you. It's been so long since I felt that familiar
feeling of your arms around me. You were stripped from me far too soon,
and I am left alone, never again to feel the warm embrace, the love that
you once held for me. Yet I know, you still love me, even from so far
away.
There were times, times when I heard your voice calling from above, around, everywhere. Those times, I felt insane, maddened by the loss that claims more than just a part of my skin, and I hate, HATE, that you were taken from me. I hate the reason, and the person, and the feelings wound deep inside my heart.
I've seen you, through a mirror, in the smoke, and in the darkest hour of the night in dreams so real I wish never to awaken. But I always wake with the first morning light, and trudge my way through another day. I will have vengeance. I will drive a stake through the heart, heh, if he had a heart, if he were even truly alive.
I've had family, not that they treated me like a relative, or a person, or a reptile. I was the handyman, the cook, the person to take all the berating that they couldn't dish out on their own son. I've wore hand-me- down clothes four sizes to large, and dealt with it out of my love and admiration of you.
Yet you are not here, and I must continue on in a charade of strength and wits, pitted against an enemy that would like nothing more than to reunite us.
It's.
Not.
Fair.
I'm not an adult; I'm sixteen, not sixty. I should live the life of a teenager, not a world saving hero, especially for ungrateful muggles who will NEVER know what I've sacrificed for their lives.
Yet, I'm not bitter. I do not wish those same muggles harm, not even the 'family' who raised me in a cupboard under the stairs. I miss those who have been lost fighting for the 'cause'. Yet, I wonder why. Why am I fighting the good fight any longer?
I have contemplated suicide, but that would be the cowards way out. I've wanted to sleep and never be burdened with the outside world, and perhaps if I don't die before the war is over, I will rush away and hide amongst the very muggles I fight to save and abandon magic return to the life I knew before, before this world wound around me.
Somehow, I doubt that is to be. I fear the ultimate sacrifice will be myself, and only then will the Dark Lord lose his power. Although, somehow I don't fear that nearly as much as I should, perhaps, the thought of being with you again staves the fear of death.
All I know for sure right now, is how much I miss you, mom.
There were times, times when I heard your voice calling from above, around, everywhere. Those times, I felt insane, maddened by the loss that claims more than just a part of my skin, and I hate, HATE, that you were taken from me. I hate the reason, and the person, and the feelings wound deep inside my heart.
I've seen you, through a mirror, in the smoke, and in the darkest hour of the night in dreams so real I wish never to awaken. But I always wake with the first morning light, and trudge my way through another day. I will have vengeance. I will drive a stake through the heart, heh, if he had a heart, if he were even truly alive.
I've had family, not that they treated me like a relative, or a person, or a reptile. I was the handyman, the cook, the person to take all the berating that they couldn't dish out on their own son. I've wore hand-me- down clothes four sizes to large, and dealt with it out of my love and admiration of you.
Yet you are not here, and I must continue on in a charade of strength and wits, pitted against an enemy that would like nothing more than to reunite us.
It's.
Not.
Fair.
I'm not an adult; I'm sixteen, not sixty. I should live the life of a teenager, not a world saving hero, especially for ungrateful muggles who will NEVER know what I've sacrificed for their lives.
Yet, I'm not bitter. I do not wish those same muggles harm, not even the 'family' who raised me in a cupboard under the stairs. I miss those who have been lost fighting for the 'cause'. Yet, I wonder why. Why am I fighting the good fight any longer?
I have contemplated suicide, but that would be the cowards way out. I've wanted to sleep and never be burdened with the outside world, and perhaps if I don't die before the war is over, I will rush away and hide amongst the very muggles I fight to save and abandon magic return to the life I knew before, before this world wound around me.
Somehow, I doubt that is to be. I fear the ultimate sacrifice will be myself, and only then will the Dark Lord lose his power. Although, somehow I don't fear that nearly as much as I should, perhaps, the thought of being with you again staves the fear of death.
All I know for sure right now, is how much I miss you, mom.