DEAREST, pansy parkinson

vi. let me let go of you

Dearest Pansy,

Today marks three months since you sent your last letter to me. I've sent you more letters than I can count.

You were serious. 

I should've stopped sending after the fourth. I should've known you wouldn't respond. 

Yet I write this, my quill gliding across the fine parchment. My hand aching, begging for me to show it mercy, yelling at me to rest. Still I write, because I simply cannot let go of you, Pansy Parkinson. No matter how much I want to.

You've probably forgotten all about me, haven't you?

I have eyes on the inside, you know. I saw you make a toast to your six months with Malfoy in slytherin common room, just three days ago.

It's mind-shattering that I actually believed that I had a chance. 

I didn't. I never did. 

I saw a crow perched on windowsill yesterday. Something's coming, really soon. I just know it.

Now I write for one reason and one reason only, hope. Hope is wretched thing. It makes you believe that you can trust, that something good will come. It'll make you believe and believe until there's nothing left to believe in. 

So thank you for opening my eyes to the cruel world that we live in. I thought the world I lived in before was bad, but it's worse when you don't have something safe to grasp onto everyone once in a while.

You were my light, my guidance, in my already dark world. Now it's full of darkness, I can't see clearly, and I can't steer myself in the right direction. 

Now you're just a thorn in my side, poking at me, taunting me and my feelings, waiting for me to snap back and finally pull you out. And I'm sick of it.

Let me let go of you, please. I can't move on if I keep on waiting.

And what does it mean to wait?

Sincerely, L