Blah blah blah, usual disclaimerness: not mine, must move on. Worship the genius that is Joanne Rowling, for she owns all.


Why don't you ever talk to me any more? I miss you, you know. I walk by you and you occasionally look up at me with those
gray eyes and I ask you silently, 'what are you thinking?' Because I never know. I don't suppose I ever will.

It's hard to keep it a secret, but you've known it all along, so all I have to do is make sure the people who are closest to
me can't tell. It hurts to lie to them about you. They laugh at you and I want nothing more than to slap them back to their
senses, make them look at you properly, see what I see. But I have to shut my mouth and keep it inside, like I've done in the

But sometimes my friends see past my blocks. I try not to let them through, but they keep hammering on me. It's so hard not
to scream it to the world. It's even harder to tell you. They get mad at me or impatient with me and I can laugh it off, it's
just something I do. I can't take anything seriously, it's my one weakness. Don't tell anybody though. But grinning in the
face of anger and impatience and all those other things that will one day burst through my personal blocks takes a lot out of
me. I can laugh at everything whenever I'm around people, and then I have no one to talk to, nobody to tell me it'll be okay,
because it never is.

You're never there.

You toy with me, putting me off, making me think that, one day, you might change or soften. You stand there, surrounded by
admirers, just out of reach. So close, and yet so far? Maybe. Sometimes closer, sometimes farther away. I don't think you
care. It might be miles or it might be millimeters, all I have to do is look in your eyes.

The subtle games we play, the dances we tiptoe through, they don't mean anything. All I can do is to whisper your name and
hope you will react. I've tried to show you what you want, and I've succeeded. You just won't admit it, to yourself or to me.
I do love you. I watch you, and you see me, I know. It's hard to go on when you're looking in my direction and seeing what
you want to see, but refusing to accept it.

Are you really that stubborn?
I guess that makes two of us, then.

Sometimes I think you enjoy tearing my heart out of my chest and stomping on it with hobnailed boots.

Every single day I see you. I have to live with this forever. Sometimes I'll end up behind you, and you'll turn around to
acknowledge me, never wholly bridging the gap. I'm so tempted just to get rid of you and be done with it, and the barriers
would be breached. You know I would do it.

It's a yes or no question.

I can make the decision.

Can you?


Ooo, angsty. I hate angst. Why am I writing it? Dunno... I was inspired by this really angsty depressing piece of D/G fluff
I found somewhere, maybe on Schnoogle. Anyways, it doesn't have to be D/G, cause I wrote 'green eyes'. It can be anybody or
anything, just use your imagination.