"I stand staring at her beauty, I wonder if she'll ever love me the way I've lover her. And I have loved her for so long…"

"What kinda crap his this!" I mutter to myself and lean back in my chair. " I can't believe I'm talking this way."

I sigh and look out my window. The soft fading light reminds me of her curly auburn hair blowing in the breeze.

I, Ron Weasly, may be in Gryffindor, but that doesn't constitute bravery. I'll never be able to tell Hermione how I feel. She'd never accept me. she only sees me as a friend, she'd never love me.

I was 14 when I realized I was in love. she was in that periwinkle dress gown, the belle of the ball. That's when I had really noticed her. Over the years she became more and more stunning. Her bushy hair turning sleek and curly, her gorgeous amber eyes that locked my gaze, her body filling out soft curves in all the right places, her legs, wow, I can't even say enough about them. Perfectly accentuated, tanned slightly, they're just amazing. I shake my head and smile to myself.

I look at the box of letters and poems and general writing that had accumulated over these past 3 years. I sigh again as I stand up and push the box into a small niche in the closet.

"I'm sorry Hermione, I don't have the courage to tell you how I feel. I hope you can forgive me someday, but I can't take it any more." I close the closet and stare at the door. "I have to get over you."