People loved to hurt themselves. Loved to see the pain. She was like that. But she didn't cut herself. She didn't watch herself bleed. She watched the tears fall from her face every night in the mirror. She would get enjoyment from the way she cried. She watched herself, fascinated, while everyone else slept. That's how she liked it. No one understood her. No one could.
I thought you would understand.
I thought you would know what I should know.
But you don't. Either you don't know, or maybe you just don't care.
Maybe you don't care about me.
And maybe I knew this all along.
She liked a lot of other forms of cruel pain. She liked when he liked her. She liked the feel of his hand upon her face. She liked the way she was his. He protected her. He would always protect her. He loved her. He said so.
I thought you would understand.
I thought you would know what I should know.
But you don't. Either you don't know, or maybe you just don't care.
Maybe you don't care about me.
And maybe I knew this all along.
She liked the way she knew it was wrong. She liked the excitement that came from opening it each time, giving him her soul. She wished to give him so much more. She was prepared to give him anything and everything. She was his. He loved her.
I thought you would understand.
I thought you would know what I should know.
But you don't. Either you don't know, or maybe you just don't care.
Maybe you don't care about me.
And maybe I knew this all along.
But most of all, she loved the way the tears fell from her face. The tears seemed to say what words could not. She could just as easily carved the unwritten words into her arm. But then people would know. No one could know. No would could know about what she alone knew. No. No one else could know what she knew, what she loved, and what she desired. The tears said it all. No one else was fascinated by what they said. Only her.
I thought you would understand.
I thought you would know what I should know.
But you don't. Either you don't know, or maybe you just don't care.
Maybe you don't care about me.
And maybe I knew this all along.
The tears always said the same thing.
Ginny Weasley and Tom Riddle forever.
He loved her in a way no one else knew, and no one else cared about.
I thought you would understand.
I thought you would know what I should know.
But you don't. Either you don't know, or maybe you just don't care.
Maybe you don't care about me.
And maybe I knew this all along.