uno amore
clouds
With a sharp sigh, she lies down on the muddy ground, hardly caring if her robes are falling into thick patches of mud. She pushes back sweaty strands of black hair away from her eyes, and watches the clouds drift above her.
How can one thing be so perfect in its creation?
She wishes she could touch them, suddenly stretch out and be able to feel the fluffy whiteness portrayed above her, in all of its in-human glory. Why can't she be like the clouds, one moment calm and still, silent, before suddenly changing into grey, harsh, thundering, storming things?
Why can't she possess the courage they so boldly display?
Pansy scoffs, biting hard down on her lip, almost to the point of drawing sticky, red blood. Why does he think he is the best; that he is capable of making all the decisions, that he is always the one that has to right? Why can't she be right for once?
How can she love him, when even after all this time; all she sees is a broken, stumbling man, controlled by his father, unable to do anything that he wants.
She closes her eyes against the non-existent sunlight, hands clasping in her lap, her legs drawn up to her knees. He's gone again, like he always is, barking loud orders over his shoulder at her, hardly sparing a thought; that maybe she doesn't want to do this, doesn't want to be stuck like her mother, stuck in an always-revolving cycle, unable to escape.
She wants to be free, like the clouds, free to do whatever she wants, to go wherever, whenever she deems it necessary. She needs to be free, and wills it with all of her shattered heart.
But she can't. Because that would be abandoning Draco, and even though she'd sure she doesn't love him, there is still something there; something tingling in her stomach, something she isn't able to define.
What is love anyway?
She doesn't know.