1
Think of Me?
I remember the first time we met. Locked eyes. Brushed hands. You were walking past my desk, and you knocked off my books with that strong arm of yours. Whether it was an accident or not I guess I'll never know. You knelt down quickly, and looked up to apologise. I looked into your eyes, covered by that messy boyish hair, and it was then I knew…
At the time she had seemed to think I'd knocked her books off on purpose or something. I looked at her and she was staring at me really weirdly, so I stood up and asked if she was ok. She said something about how it had been the books I'd knocked off, not her, and then she laughed, as if it had been a joke. I smiled weakly, and moved off to my desk. Crazy girl.
Then you smiled at me. I guess at the age of eleven I couldn't have known for sure that you were the one for me. That's ridiculous isn't it? But I'm older now. I know what true love is, I feel it, deep inside of me. Like some flower in the breeze, swaying past my heart, tickling it with your soft touch…
What is it you're always writing in that girlie book of yours? The pink one with the flowers on the front? Do you have any idea how much it annoys me? Whenever we're in class, and the professor's going on about one thing or another, I can always hear you scratching away, an occasional sigh here and there, then I turn to look at you and you look at me. You always go all giggly and blush and then go back down to your stupid little notebook, more keen than ever to annoy the hell out of me, it seems…
You know about my diary, don't you? I'm writing it for you, my love. It's where I keep my poetry about our love. It's where I keep a record of every precious moment we've spoken. I know you've seen it. You're always staring at me in class, and I look at you, and I know you're wondering what I'm writing in it. But be patient my love. When my sixteenth birthday comes, you'll know, and we'll be able to share everything… Won't that be wonderful?
No. On second thoughts I don't want to know what's in that book. I bet it's just your diary. I hate it when girls keep diaries. Whenever we're in the common room, and there's a book on the table, if I just go to curiously and harmlessly pick it up, just to see, there's always a girl around to slap me on the wrist. "It's rude to read people's diaries." Well how was I supposed to know it was your flipping diary? If girls don't want me to read their diaries, why don't they just write "DIARY – KEEP OUT" on the front? *Sigh* I'll never understand girls.
You're already sixteen aren't you? I remember from that party your friends threw you. It was such a shame I couldn't come, I know you'll have wanted me there, even though we never get to talk. But my friend was in a crisis, and I had to go to the library to research with her. Well anyway, it's so obvious you're sixteen; you're so manly, and your hair is so long and makes you look so roguishly handsome. And you're always around girls; it's no wonder you're so popular from how you look. Though I've heard you've never had a girlfriend – just waiting for me? Oh love I know it's hard to be apart and I wish I could tell you why we cannot be together, but… Just be brave. My father said as soon as I'm sixteen I'll be allowed to date, and I'll come straight to you…
She doesn't ever seem to have a boyfriend hanging around. It's not that no one wants to go out with her: Remus goes on about her half the time, and so do quite a few people for that matter. But she seems to keep to herself quite a lot. And I've heard her father has forbid her from going out with anyone until she's 16. I guess she hates him for it. Nah – she's too innocent. And that annoys me like hell. She's so girlie and prissy, locked in her shell of pretty…prissy things. She should be so lucky she has a mother and a father who bothered to stick around for her. Wherever the hell my parents are, I bet they couldn't care less who I went out with. A fucking Slytherin, whatever. If they cared they would still be here.
Oh I love you so much. And I know you feel the same. Nothing could come between us, we've shared too much together in the past five years. My darling… Are you thinking of me?
Anyway, like I care about her stupid girlie ways. … Christ, why am I thinking about my parents? I can't help it, even after all this time. I wonder where they are now... Do they ever think about me?