Scarred
May 14, 2014, 10:59 PM
Great Love,
I am writing to and about you now because I am so torn and don’t know what to feel about you, about this and about everything anymore. I am writing to and about you again because I want you to know what I feel and think right now, even if you won’t ever read this. And I miss you. A lot. And I love you so much this epic yearning brings tears to my eyes every fucking time.
I am so jealous right now. And so confused. I learned that this particular female friend you have is somewhat romantically linked to you – and the silly thing is, all this time I felt threatened by a
different girl! I knew it – I knew she has a special place in your heart. I already had a hunch about it but I refused to believe. She is so pretty – even
I would have a liking for her. And would you look at that: you and her share a lot of interests, like your love for technology and concerts. How can I compete with that? I have no interest with technology or gadgets or anything that requires numbers and mechanisms, and I’d probably die in a packed concert, especially in a mosh pit. It is a pity. I should’ve known that you and I barely share the same interests. Yes, we both like Paramore and
Harry Potter, but who doesn’t? Yes, we both listen to The Summer Set and Parachute, but that’s because I recommended them to you! If I didn’t you’d live your whole life not knowing about their awesomeness.
I should’ve known better. We are
not compatible. The thing they say about magnets and how opposites attract is more or less an utter
bullshit. Not true at all! It’s always the one you relate to the most that you end up with. And I know you and her aren’t dating yet (that’d be the end of me), but the fact that both of you have spent some memorable times together just
slaps me with reality – that pining for you is stupid and fruitless. Think about it: all we’ve ever really shared are awkward hi’s and hello’s, moments that I consider unforgettable but also cringe-worthy. Reality slapped me so hard it’s impossible not to wake up from this blissful make-believe. It stings like a bitch.
I am in love with you. I love you, and despite what the odds are showing me, what those photos are telling me, what those posts mean, what your friends say about you two having “sparks”, I’m not giving up on this. I know it’s stupid, and crying over this will make me look more stupid, and telling you about it will be the most retarded thing ever, but I love you enough to continue loving you even if it hurts. I love you enough to succumb to the pain until I become so numb. I love you enough to accept each blow to my heart, like the shitty masochistic that I am.
I actually don’t know why I’m doing this to myself – and why I’m doing this to you, although indirectly. I could’ve forgotten you, moved on and liked someone else. I could’ve asked myself, “Why do I still love you despite our differences and our not-so-brilliant fate?” And I could’ve answered. But I’m lovesick, and in the end, it’s always you. For almost four years, it has
always been you. I’ve tried so hard to cease this yearning: for a few months, I scrutinized you and made up this guy in my mind that was such a douchebag, made up someone I’d never like. And it pained me. But all of those proved futile. I
cannot stop myself from loving you. Even though you have these qualities I don’t like, the things I love most about you overshadow those that I don’t. It seems like I’ll always find a way to love you, even from a distance, even if you haven’t any idea about it, even if I know someone else might’ve already taken dibs to your heart.
This may sound ridiculous and this metaphor won’t be your most favorite thing, but you know, you’re like a
wound. You’re like a wound that throbs in pain every time too much force is put into it. You’re a wound that heals in time and becomes a scab. You become a scab that I can’t ignore. And doctors say not to pick on scabs or it’ll become a scar. But I’m a stubborn child, so I pick on this scab that is you. I peel the crust off; it hurts. Once I peeled at the wrong time and the wound bled. I opened the wound and the process of healing starts all over again. And in time, it becomes a scar. Because of my stubbornness, this once harmless wound left a scar, a permanent mark on my skin that would forever remind me of the pain and the stupidity. But you know what? I’ve always believed that I’m not a flawless person. I am no porcelain; I am scarred in and out.
You are one of my scars, a scar I cherish instead of hate. No matter what happens, no matter what you do, no matter who you end up with, you will eternally be imprinted on me. I love you enough to let you leave a mark on my life.
I just hope that someday, you’ll allow me to leave a mark on your life, too.
Maybe one day I’ll forget about you and forget about this, but until then, I love you.
P.S.: Happy birthday.
← older / top / newer →
a woeful & chaotic diary since 071409
Scarred
May 14, 2014, 10:59 PM
Great Love,
I am writing to and about you now because I am so torn and don’t know what to feel about you, about this and about everything anymore. I am writing to and about you again because I want you to know what I feel and think right now, even if you won’t ever read this. And I miss you. A lot. And I love you so much this epic yearning brings tears to my eyes every fucking time.
I am so jealous right now. And so confused. I learned that this particular female friend you have is somewhat romantically linked to you – and the silly thing is, all this time I felt threatened by a
different girl! I knew it – I knew she has a special place in your heart. I already had a hunch about it but I refused to believe. She is so pretty – even
I would have a liking for her. And would you look at that: you and her share a lot of interests, like your love for technology and concerts. How can I compete with that? I have no interest with technology or gadgets or anything that requires numbers and mechanisms, and I’d probably die in a packed concert, especially in a mosh pit. It is a pity. I should’ve known that you and I barely share the same interests. Yes, we both like Paramore and
Harry Potter, but who doesn’t? Yes, we both listen to The Summer Set and Parachute, but that’s because I recommended them to you! If I didn’t you’d live your whole life not knowing about their awesomeness.
I should’ve known better. We are
not compatible. The thing they say about magnets and how opposites attract is more or less an utter
bullshit. Not true at all! It’s always the one you relate to the most that you end up with. And I know you and her aren’t dating yet (that’d be the end of me), but the fact that both of you have spent some memorable times together just
slaps me with reality – that pining for you is stupid and fruitless. Think about it: all we’ve ever really shared are awkward hi’s and hello’s, moments that I consider unforgettable but also cringe-worthy. Reality slapped me so hard it’s impossible not to wake up from this blissful make-believe. It stings like a bitch.
I am in love with you. I love you, and despite what the odds are showing me, what those photos are telling me, what those posts mean, what your friends say about you two having “sparks”, I’m not giving up on this. I know it’s stupid, and crying over this will make me look more stupid, and telling you about it will be the most retarded thing ever, but I love you enough to continue loving you even if it hurts. I love you enough to succumb to the pain until I become so numb. I love you enough to accept each blow to my heart, like the shitty masochistic that I am.
I actually don’t know why I’m doing this to myself – and why I’m doing this to you, although indirectly. I could’ve forgotten you, moved on and liked someone else. I could’ve asked myself, “Why do I still love you despite our differences and our not-so-brilliant fate?” And I could’ve answered. But I’m lovesick, and in the end, it’s always you. For almost four years, it has
always been you. I’ve tried so hard to cease this yearning: for a few months, I scrutinized you and made up this guy in my mind that was such a douchebag, made up someone I’d never like. And it pained me. But all of those proved futile. I
cannot stop myself from loving you. Even though you have these qualities I don’t like, the things I love most about you overshadow those that I don’t. It seems like I’ll always find a way to love you, even from a distance, even if you haven’t any idea about it, even if I know someone else might’ve already taken dibs to your heart.
This may sound ridiculous and this metaphor won’t be your most favorite thing, but you know, you’re like a
wound. You’re like a wound that throbs in pain every time too much force is put into it. You’re a wound that heals in time and becomes a scab. You become a scab that I can’t ignore. And doctors say not to pick on scabs or it’ll become a scar. But I’m a stubborn child, so I pick on this scab that is you. I peel the crust off; it hurts. Once I peeled at the wrong time and the wound bled. I opened the wound and the process of healing starts all over again. And in time, it becomes a scar. Because of my stubbornness, this once harmless wound left a scar, a permanent mark on my skin that would forever remind me of the pain and the stupidity. But you know what? I’ve always believed that I’m not a flawless person. I am no porcelain; I am scarred in and out.
You are one of my scars, a scar I cherish instead of hate. No matter what happens, no matter what you do, no matter who you end up with, you will eternally be imprinted on me. I love you enough to let you leave a mark on my life.
I just hope that someday, you’ll allow me to leave a mark on your life, too.
Maybe one day I’ll forget about you and forget about this, but until then, I love you.
P.S.: Happy birthday.
← older / top / newer →
a woeful & chaotic diary since 071409
Profile
Already several months had passed, and I am missing
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry more and more each fleeting day. There are just some things in life that we can never forget – especially that something that had given us knowledge, skills, strong relationships and a second home. I am glad that everything in the magical world is now at peace, since Voldemort (yes, I can now say his name; no need to be afraid) had died. I had secretly admired Tom Marvolo Riddle (Voldemort’s birth name) though, because of his intelligence, passion and love for magic. Wasn’t he very clever to think of and conjure his seven
Horcruxes to preserve his life, or form a clan of
Death Eaters who were very loyal to him and would give up their lives just for him to succeed? Not everybody can acquire that much loyalty from people these days. I do not, however, admire him for the way he had carried out all of his plans. He had a good agenda, his means just weren’t morally right. But he still is one of the darkest wizards of all time… and let’s leave it that way.
Oh, for all those who are baffled of what I’m saying here and who the heck I am, my name is
Christine Faye Ordas, and I am an alumnus of Hogwarts. I came from the bronze-and-blue-clad house of the smart ass witch Rowena Ravenclaw and her dictum
“Wit beyond measure is a man’s greatest treasure.” And yes, I know the wonderful Luna Lovegood (she’s such a darling) and Harry Potter’s first crush Cho Chang. I had just left Hogwarts last May. Right now I am trying to pursue a career in magical researches, literature and writing. It’s my dream to inscribe intellectual books, publish and sell them in
Flourish and Blotts for the future Hogwarts students’ use. I am also planning to credibly write for the
Daily Prophet, the magical world’s primary news bulletin. And of course, I will be very much honored to contribute to Mr. Xenophilius Lovegood’s
Quibbler (hence, my interest in magical researches). I have always found the Lovegoods a fascinating family, and I bet working with and for them will be very exciting. Or maybe, in Merlin’s beard’s time, I can write legends and bedtime stories like the famous – and wickedly brilliant – Beedle the Bard.
And that’s how my life goes these days. I am utterly missing my old school, my friends, the Great Hall, the bronze eagle knocker just outside the Ravenclaw common room, Professor Flitwick (the head of our house), Hogsmeade, the Quidditch matches (although I didn’t actually play for the house), the moving portraits, the castle ghosts, the pumpkins on Halloween, the giant pine trees on Christmas, Rubeus Hagrid’s (Hogwarts’ gamekeeper) tea and treacle fudge – even the crabby Argus Filch (Hogwarts’ caretaker) I miss. Maybe I can visit the school grounds sometimes and see how the magical world’s been doing since Voldemort died (I’ve been spending my months in the muggle world, you see). I’ve heard everybody’s been moving on and starting all over again; the ministry is back on work under Kingsley Shacklebolt; and Harry Potter’s scar haven’t been disturbing him since.
All is well, indeed.
And because of that, we should celebrate and drink firewhisky! Oh, I still don’t drink firewhisky; I can take butterbeer or tea or pumpkin juice – just not firewhisky, please.
Accounts
FACEBOOK
TWITTER
INSTAGRAM
GOODREADS
