What It's Like

I wonder if anyone really knows what it´s like.

Every day I wake up for the same reason- every night I go to sleep with the same dreams of her face, her bright eyes in the twilight, her mischievous grin with the stars gleaming in her teeth. Every time I see her smile a little bit of sunshine sneaks into the dreary, depressing world that we live in, the gleam of light washing over the endless grey that dulls the minds and hearts of the people I live with everyday. I see the way she lights up the world with her smile, and I decide that I´ll always love her, if only just for the memories of the warm rays when her smile fades into the endless grey, never again to grace her beautiful visage.

And when I tell myself again how much I love her, when I look at her and I know it´s true, something inside me is feeling more alive than I ever feel, and something inside me is dying with every moment my eyes linger.

I wonder if she knows what it´s like. To take in every word, every expression, every gesture, wondering if this is the word, the expression, the gesture- the sign, finally, that your dreams have come true. I wonder if she knows how it feels to be relentlessly pursuing what you want- what you need- without moving an inch, without saying a word. I wonder, when I see her spending her time and energy on things I find irrelevant, if she does these things because every fibre of her being screams out that this is what it is, that this is all there is. I wonder if she knows, because then she might understand some vestige of what I feel for her, have some clue.

It´s among the things I can never tell her. I lie in bed every night, going over everything I´ve said, how many things I did manage to say to her, and I always realize how much I hurt her. The guilt is overwhelming, but laced with a perverse pleasure- if she felt any modicum of the heartache I feel every day when I see her smile beyond my reach, looming like a star in the sky, then I would have gotten even, somehow. But the fact that I would shrug off remorse for having hurt her only brings more guilt until the feeling is drowning me, and I feel like I have to go to her and apologize, say the words a thousand times over and still not mean them enough. And it´s among the things I can never tell her- I can never just let myself apologize like that, I can never relent, because then she might start to notice, she might start to see the way I feel. And I can never let her know how I feel.

I love her with everything I am, and everything I´m not- because I would be whatever I had to become if I could just make her happy. But she´ll never understand my whispered words in the night as I remember the way her eyes twinkled as she laughed. She´ll never understand the unsent letters about a simple word, a single comment that she made to restore what little hope has remained in my heart. She´ll never understand why I want to apologize for what I haven´t done, or why I could tell her I love her every moment of every day for an eternity and still not mean it like I feel it when I look at her. The most powerful of words would be struck meaningless with a single stolen glance and she´ll never know why I can´t just say them. She´ll never understand.

But despite the bittersweet symphony that rings in my ears while I watch her, I can never stop loving her. Because I feel it like it´s all that I am; all that I´ll ever be, wrapped in the mysterious twinkle in her eyes. And without those eyes to guide me, it´s worthless; my feelings are worthless without my love for her. I´ve never felt so innocent and so jaded at once as when I long for her in my arms- and somehow, I laugh at myself, though mirthlessly. I can see her now, berating me: "Ronald Weasley! You can´t go about life being so impractical. You have to learn to take what you want and want what you have."

The stern look, the ever-so-slightly superior glint in her eyes- the picture is set in my mind. But sometimes I wonder if she would say such a thing- sometimes I cling to that "sign", the one omen that maybe she would understand what it´s like. That maybe, just maybe- by some miracle beyond any magic- she could feel the exact same way about me.

I watch, and I wait, and the list grows longer of words I know I can´t say. And part of me knows she´ll never understand- but another part of me, a tiny part, but a part that I wish I could listen to, sees hope in her words, her expressions, her gestures- it feels the sunshine in her smile, and tells me that she knows, she always knew.

I love her, and I know I always will, regardless of what she feels for me- so why do I keep chasing dreams? Why must I allow my heart to break with every harsh look, every angry word?

But every frustrated sigh, every silent tear, every wistful glance is all for naught. And I always come back to this place. I´ve always known I´m a sucker for punishment, but never have I known it would go this far.

I love her. She´ll never understand.

I wonder if she knows what it´s like.