Harry Potter one shots

Insanities of a Grieving Heart

I never did believe in love at first sight.
It doesn't sound real. How can someone fall in love just by looking at another person? It is rather superficial, isn't it. I have been told, by many, about a spark, an instant connection between two souls that is so intense that causes the air around to sparkle with electricity, and, many others have told me of a group of dancing butterflies that settle in your stomach and chant about desire, happiness and soulmates. I never did believe their tales, I didn't think they had any portion of truth to them, then again, it might also be that I did not believe in love at all.
I never understood love, not back then, when I did not believe in it, and not now, when it has become the ruler of my own life. Love is too much of a complex emotion to fully have a grasp on it. But, well, it might also be the fact the I am not that good with emotions, of any kind, really. But even when I cannot fully comprehend love, or even come close to it, I can state that love is as guilty as it is innocent, in the trials that is the story of us.

From the very beginning we were set to fall and break. I was Jonathan and you were Rayne, and we all know about the inevitable fate that Romeo and Juliet have already sealed for those who began with the letters R+J. But against all odds and against all warnings we went into this madness that is falling in love together.
I cannot recall how it happened exactly. I cannot remember when it was that you first showed me I was not an emotionless monster, that you dragged me into the land of the living and taught me how to feel it all and be free. But, what I have memorized and carved into my skin, is the day you finally convinced me that I am capable of grief, the day I took all those emotions that once were my wings and turned them into shackles. 

We went rigorously trough all and every one of the stages of tragically falling in love:
One, meeting. You held my favorite book in your hand, I asked you if you were liking it so far, you told me that it was the fourth time you were reading it and that you loved it a little bit more each time. 
Two, getting to know each other. Ever since our first conversation, I knew I needed you in my life. I became rather obsessed, if I am to admit it. And then, when you sent me that first letter, covered with your thoughts and soul, my stomach filled with dancing butterflies. So, maybe it wasn't love at first sight, but it was definitely love.
Three, getting together. From our very first kiss we knew our time together was counted. You warned me of the ending, you spoiled it for me, and in response I told you of my grandfather's death and my incapability to grief, I spoke of the way I loved him and of the way I did not miss him. I told you that I was a monster that made deals with the devil, and you smiled and said: "you are no monster". We became inseparable, a knot of tangled hands, hearts and souls, all tenderness and warmth. The world began and ended in us and nothing else mattered. 
Four, the ending. We were set to fall and break. We walked slowly and cherished every step we took together, but eventually we reached the cliff, our time ran out. You fell down, letting go of my hand, crashing into the ground below, alone and dead. I remember your last words: "you are not a monster".

One night, you recited a poem to me about two lovers who met after death, I thought it was tragic, you told me that you found it rather beautiful and you asked me if I ever imagined I would love someone so much that I'd prefer to die alongside them rather than keep living without them. That night, I couldn't answer you.

Today, if you asked me again, I'd have an answer:  

In some twisted way, I think I enjoy pain.
It is a reminder of my humanity. It is a thudding confirmation that I am not a monster.
In some twisted way, I think I have summoned this aching pain. Brought it upon myself. I have prayed for it so many nights, by the grave of my dead grandfather, that I think this was God's attempt to answer me.
And in some twisted way, I am enjoying it so much that it is almost unbearable.

I am a masochist among masochists. I drown in our memories, willingly. I let them soak me and take me down with them. Or maybe, I just let them fill the room with red water and I sit still, at the bottom of the rising waves, stuck in place by the shackles of pain I have set around my arms.
I have never quite learned how to swim, and I have never been happier.

The ghost of your smile and your glittering eyes, hunt me. It invades my dreams and denies me sleep. They are the reason for my insanity. Your silhouette, present, and standing in every dazzling sunset, become my driving force. The memories of your historical laugh and your wise advice, a whisper in the air, accompanying the singing voices of the birds, and those of the creaking crickets, turn into my knife.

My blood, the invading water.

I know I am enjoying the pain. The aching of my heart. The poisoning of my soul. The emptiness of my body. The scars that refuse to heal. The numbness and the dizziness. It is overwhelming and calming, it burns me and drowns me all together, and it is so confusing and addicting. 

People hurt themself all the time. Some do it because they think they deserve it, others do it by accident, and others, like me, because they need to.

We need to.

I am on my bathroom floor, lying, curled into my side, clenching my stomach. A pool of blood around, on, beneath me, my arms the hose, filling it up. I am choking, drowning. I have never quite learned how to swim. I have never been happier. The metallic fluid fills my lungs, it took over them and I can not breathe and it burns.  

I roll into my back, coughing.

I open my eyes, I am blinded by the white lights that seem to take over everything. I think I have made it. And then I see you, the ghost of who you used to be, and I know that I have made it.

We need to.

You are as imposing as ever, you look as beautiful as you have always looked, your eyes gleam, your skin glows, and you just look so... alive. You stare at me and you smile, you give me that sweet, innocent smile that has always made me go weak by the knee, and you offer me your hand.