I took your picture and hung it on the wall so it would be the first thing I saw each morning. It still is.

Each morning, I wake up to see your beautiful face laughing at something I said, with me beside you, and that makes me happier than anything else. You always made me happy. You still do.

All that I have left of you are the memories. The wonderful and the not so great alike, they're all perfect now. Because of you.

I used to watch old Muggle films with my mum, all in black-and-white. They were scratchy and blurry sometimes, a lot of the times, but they were still adorable and romantic. That's how I like to think of you. You are already in black and white and all the shades of gray in between. And sometimes, you're rough and scratchy and blurry, but you're still adorable and romantic, no matter how gruff you get sometimes. You're still you. And I love you for that.

You were a perfect mistake. That's how I like to think of you. Not us, but you. You would never have a hair out of place, you always knew what to say and how to handle everything, and you were always just so perfect. But then, I would look at you again, and see something so odd. A something that looked like the moon and the stars had combined, then combined with the darkness that surrounded them, twisting themselves into a mortal being. You…

I don't know why you left. You were like that, not a man of words, but a man of actions. So you didn't tell that you were leaving or why you were going to leave, you just did. It broke my heart. To know my lover had left when I needed him most was a crushing blow. Maybe you knew that. Maybe that's why you left.

You told me once that I was the color of your world, and that that made me beautiful. I remember how I was indignant and asked if you were using me. You immediately had the grace to be apologetic. You had the grace to grovel and beg for my forgiveness. And so I laughed and forgave you. But even now, I think of you, of that happy time. Were you just using me? Of course not…

You are the essence of all things pure and beautiful, wondrous. Nice moods, piano music, artistic paintings and drawings, flower scents, laughter, singing in the rain, first snowfall, a baby's first noise, ice cream, moonlight, stolen kisses, walks on the beach, back-and-white movies, love… I love you…

Once, I tried to forget you. I couldn't. All the pain I was in couldn't measure up to how much I loved you. Did you love me? You never told me. Say you love me, just say you love me…

I was there at your funeral. I was out of place. For who would want to come to an assumed Death Eater's funeral? I would… I visit your grave every week, at the same time. Every week, I leave work on Thursday at 9:36 and stay until 11:11. Narcissa and Pansy come to visit then, too. I asked them to. Of course they agreed, for it was you, and who would disobey your one last wish? I can still hear your voice now, If I ever leave you Hermione, promise you will come to visit me. Promise, promise me Hermione. And my reply, Of course, Draco. For you.

I will always love you, eternally. You're gone, but I understand. For love is just a fated roll of dice, and you got the wrong face…

I still love you Draco. I can't stop, and it hurts. I'll never get used to the pain, but I am comforted by the thought of you. And then the ache is bearable. The ache is bearable because of you, because I love you…


fin.


Regular Disclaimers are applicable.