I always thought I was boy crazy. And when we were together, arguing, your face getting all red at my supposed stupidity, I was convinced I was only attracted to you.

I don’t know how it happened. I guess my eyes just opened one day and I realized I actually loved you. Loved you? I don’t understand it. You are nothing I want in a guy and I am everything you despise. I suppose you only put up with me because I’m one hell of a chaser, and because I am as dedicated to Quidditch as you are.

But I know you hate me.

I see the look in your eyes when I’m around. As if you can’t even stand to be near me for longer than absolutely necessary. When you look at my body I see your repulsion. I’m not fit enough, I’m not girly enough, and I am definitely not like any one of your beautiful, smiling girlfriends.

I’m drab, and tomboyish. I think too much and too seriously and I don’t have the ideal fashion sense.

But couldn’t you love me anyways?

I love you. Too much probably. I love your half smile, and the way you get so matter of fact when proving a point. I love your body, and the way you’re slender and muscular at the same time. I love your mind, and the way you think about things. And I love how when I’m being myself you look at me quizzically, as if I’m not the waste of space you originally thought I was.

It’s been four years Oliver. Four long years since I woke up and realized that you’re my whole life. And now you’re gone. Drifting away to fame and fortune, or more likely a successful Quidditch career with gorgeous blondes hitting on you at every pub you come across. And they’ll get to appreciate the way your shirt hugs your abs, and how your accent is stronger when you’re excited. They’ll get the full blunt of your brilliant sarcasm and straight, white teeth.

You don’t know me anymore Oliver, but my name is Katie Bell, and I’m in love with you.