Another winter, another time where coldness takes over the world. Like you did that one year I cannot remember. It does not matter, we are alone. Your whispers are my fire in these long nights that threaten to take me over. But you are always there to safe me, from the darkness that is your kingdom. I do not belong there. I open my eyes to your touch and your voice. They are the only thing keeping me alive. I don't know how you always survive summer. Maybe I am your salvation in the light where you don't belong.
You say, there is nothing, even though I can see the snow falling falling falling, giving light to the darkness that had surrounded us with its suffocating strength. I wonder, if you can see it. And then I wonder, if you even want to.
Strange, how feelings can wither and die – and then bloom again, as if nothing had happened. That is what has happened to us too many times. Our feelings are too intense for us to handle. It is dangerous, but also healing. I wonder what would happen to me if you weren't by my side.
In the bittersweet lullaby we always seek out each others hand and cry for each other. We are broken and even though we try, we can never be whole again. At least not on our own. That is why you are still by my side. You need me, which is why you choose to look at me with hate and disgust. I have been in your mind. You cannot deceive me, not anymore.
Forever the snow keeps falling on the ground, or so it seems. Time is not important to us; we have no use for time. We are enough for each other. Being close is what matters, even though I know you wish to be away from me sometimes. I wish that, too. In this solitude of love, what is time?
Once, I remember, you cuddled with me under the blankets that were protecting us from the cold. You have always liked coldness, as I have always liked warmth. This time, you breathed your sweet breath on my neck and held me close. You were awake, and I smiled. Never had I felt as safe with you, nor will I ever feel as safe. It does not matter.
Darkness is your way to heal and to comfort. My way is light. This is why our love continues to live through our pain. Do you see? Can you? Do you want to?
The beauty you see is not the one I know. You see a bird with broken wings and you smile, whispering beautiful. I do not understand, but I don't have to. Our beauty is not the same, nor will it ever be. It shouldn't be.
Long ago, when we were still enemies, I could not understand your view of the world. All you could see was darkness, coldness and pain. Despair was the only beauty you could see. Then we became one and the colours of my life blinded you as your darkness blinded me. But we are one, and that is all that matters anymore.
The snow keeps falling, but you apparently cannot see it. It is beautiful, but your beauty is not the same. I lay by your side, watching the steady fall, the peace. Your hand in my hair, and I can feel your smile. You dig your nails into my neck and whisper beautiful. I say nothing, but close my eyes for the pain on my neck is the only beauty I can give you and I will give it to you. And then you say, there lies our love. I wish I couldn't believe you. I wish you wouldn't always be telling me the truth.
The red blood flows slowly down my neck onto your fingers. You like the colour of my blood. I like the colour of my blood; it is the colour of your eyes. Always when I say this, you smile and I smile with you. These smiles of yours are rare and I always memorize them in case you will not smile again.
You kiss the blood away and I close my eyes. Your lips are soft and your tongue is making me shiver in anticipation. The feather touch of your fingers in burning fire on my cold skin and always I yearn for more. And always you give me more. Softly you whisper my name in my ear, Harry, and lick the blood from my neck.
I wish I could kill you. Or that you could kill me. Either way is better than this seduction of love that was borne from hatred. Your voice, your touch intoxicates me, and I wish we were both dead. A tear falls from my eye and you lick it away.
I love you, Tom Riddle, but I wish you were dead.