I’ll be completely honest: I don’t really like this piece. It doesn’t seem to really move along with the lyrics, but I suppose this is as good as it’s going to get. How to improve this would be MUCH appreciated…I’m afraid my muse is starting fade…
Enough rambling! Here’s the Away from the Sun challenge:
I doubt whether anyone ever knew that she was my sun, my own little ray of hope that shone into the darkest corners of my soul and lit it with a passionate burst of fire. Except for her, of course, and she had known ever since that moment in the corridor, and surprised me by saying she felt the same way.
I had never known Ginerva Weasly was such a good liar.
It never had struck me as odd when it popped into my head that she was like the sun. How could I, when her eyes resembled that of the sky and her hair that of flames that must emit from the actual sun that smiled brilliantly on the whole world? I wish I had known the coldness that lain inside her heart instead of the warmness and compassion I had automatically assumed.
My world revolved around her, though no one else knew it. She was my life, everything that gave me hope and the strength to fight against my father’s will. Maybe if she had known to the extent I loved her she wouldn’t have done that to me.
Maybe she would have anyway.
It wasn’t the fact that she used me to get to Blaise Zambini as much as the fact that she had lied to me every time she had told me she loved me. Because if she had loved me she would have told me that she didn’t anymore instead of just letting me see her sauntering down the hall with him as though nothing had ever happened between us. Which I suppose was her point.
I had to endure the brags Zambini told about her, the tales of triumph, of kisses, of future dates without saying a word, for no one was to know that Ginny and I had ever been together in that sense. It was secret, and up until then it had been a thrilling one.
I’m so far down in my misery and regret, sometimes wishing I had never laid eyes on her, sometimes thinking I should have told her how much I loved her, sometimes just wanting to kiss her once more.
I sit in this dark room in the mansion, never coming out save for food every now and then, thinking about her. I don’t dare go inside, for everything I see will remind me of her, or worse yet I would see her, and I have no idea whether I would be able to contain myself or not.
Even though I’ve begun not to feel.
She’s not here to lift my soul up into the heavens where my sun is. She’s not here to soothe away my fears and assure me of my dreams. She’s not here to kiss me goodnight or for me to openly tenderly bid goodbye to as though I wouldn’t see her again.
Which now I suppose now is true.
It’s pitch black in here, with not even a sliver of sunlight of moonlight allowed to creep through the tightly shut curtains. I had thought it fitting that there be an absence of light and sun, just as I was without my light and my sun.
I whittled the hours away by thinking and contemplating everything that ever took place in my life before and after Ginny Weasly. I find it somewhat ironic that before her I was immersed in darkness, and now after her I am once again deep down in a different darkness that is not around me, but within me. [I]Away from the sun again,[/I] I thought, a ghost of a smile flitting at my lips only to vanish seconds later as the irony passed.
I want to find my way back into her arms which I had thought so caring. I want to forget she hurt me and find my sun again, but I know I am eternally away from it. She has her own life now, and I have one in shambles.
I sort of miss life in a strange way. Just living had never seemed such a pleasure before, but now that I was deprived of the privilege, I had never wanted it more. But I knew that living wasn’t an option--not while I was away from the sun.
I occasionally wonder if there are others like me, and occasionally think that they are out there somewhere but unknown as they lurk in shadows and memories. I wish there was somewhere out there to care for those who are like me, but know that there are none so patient and willing.
I turn on a lamp and look in the mirror, seeing myself for the first time in months. My blonde hair is disheveled and greasy, my skin paler than a ghost, and bags under my liquid gray eyes. My gaze gets caught on a picture of myself from a couple of years ago, standing in front of some tree and smirking, and glance back at the mirror, comparing the two images.
“It’s down to this,” I whispered to my reflection. “I’ve got to make this life make sense. And now…” I looked at the picture once more. “…now I can’t tell what I’ve done.”
Another picture catches my eye, one of Ginny and I, and I know within that instant that it is my fate to stay in this room that is covered in darkness. It doesn’t matter what I’ve done or could have done, for all that matters now is how I spend the rest of my bleak future in this room. I know my future won’t be long--and I hope it isn’t--but I also know that I will hang on for yet a while longer in hopes that I will not remain away from the sun.