Need him. Need him need him need him need him need him.
He's so good to me, my Moony. So patient, so loving, so trusting, so amazing. He trusted me when no one else did. He dared to touch me when I hadn't been touched in twelve years. Well, not touched like that. I mean, sure I was beaten, bruised, pushed, shoved. But not truly touched. Like a human being. Like something you wanted to hold, not something you were being forced to touch. Even now, few people touch me as if I'm more than a disease. Not one of them touches me like my Moony. My Moony. My. Moony.
I could never bring myself to say it, especially not to him, but in a way, I'm kind of… grateful for what happened to me. People expect me to be many things regarding that… incident. Angry. Hurt. Deranged. Wary. Never grateful. I feel absolutely insane saying that I'm grateful for the horrific experience, but I am. For several reasons. It taught me patience. It showed me what's important in life, what lasts when all other memories and emotions have died. It gave me a lot of time to think. Most importantly, now that I'm out, I understand him. For the first time ever, I understand him. I know what it's like to be feared and hated for something out of your control. I know what it's like to be denied things every human being should be entitled to just because of some stupid, undeserved, inaccurate prejudices. I understand him now. And I want to take care of him and be there for him.
I had no idea all those years ago. None. I didn't know all the pain he had. I've come to see him in a whole new perspective. I admire him. He's led a very lonely and hard life. I love him. And I need him, need to be with him. My Moony. His Padfoot. So perfect. So… complete.