mid august, 1995
cedric,
i am seventeen years old, yet it feels like i have lived everything that needed to be lived.
i see the adults reminisce their young days, and i find myself wanting to join them for i have been through everything they have too— love, heartbreak, fun, loss, and grief.
i never leave the grief factor, i hold on to it, because it's the only thing that keeps me holding to every memory of you.
harry potter keeps apologising to me, and i keep telling him it's not his fault— i know that, i'm not stupid.
he told me about your last words, and wished me a happy birthday, as i lay rotting in the hospital wing, and i felt flowers bloom, a sickening laugh leaving my throat, a part of me being pleased that i was one of your last thoughts.
i find comfort in professor lupin, who's here when my father isn't, who's here to tell me that's it okay to fall apart.
and that it's okay to move on at my own, slow pace. that it's okay to take my time, grief is a heavy thing to handle and he understands.
all my flowers have wilted cedric, you're not there to water them anymore and i don't think anyone ever could.
i don't think i will ever learn to love again, and even if i do, it will never be the way i love you, for you are still in my heart and always will be.
i will never forget you, that i can promise you with every breath i take.
i will carry your memory with me until my heart stops beating.
yours,
june
