Disclaimer: If I created Harry Potter, I'd be the richest woman in the world and thinking about which character's death would devistate most of my fans in the seventh book instead of being here, writing a fan fiction on a crummy hand me down computer in the middle of Small Town, USA.
Lily
It drives me crazy. As soon as you decide to forget something, your brain comes to the conclusion that it's the most fascinating thing in the world.
So, naturally, I spent my whole afternoon thinking about the boy I'd spent the past seven years shooting down over and over again.
Everytime his arrogant face flashed across my mind I gave myself a firm shake, as if trying to disolve the image that kept haunting me like you would do to a rejected picture on an old Etch-A-Sketch. But the harder I tried to forget, the more I remembered.
It makes me wonder...
If you tell your brain not to do stuff like that and it keeps doing it anyway, does that mean your mind has a mind of it's own? And if it does, who's really in charge here anyways?
It's a wonder we're not all lunatics.
James
Seven years.
Seven years of lust, of longing.
Seven years of continuous hope endlessly punctured by rejection.
Yet, I still can't rid her image from my memory. And I don't want to.
She's the one.
But now, after seven years of dead ends, it makes me wonder...
Is she my one?