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PAPER
Ginny writes in other books, but its not the same.
For one thing, her father checks out all her books thoroughly now, taking them
for days and testing them for spells, so when she gets them back, they're not
even really hers anymore. No matter how many times she writes 'Ginny Weasley'
on the inside cover, they're tainted, filled with her father's magic.
Besides, these books never talk back. They just lie there, lifeless
beneath her, and Ginny inevitably tears them apart, or fills them with page
after page of obscenities, of words underlined in dark black ink.
They're not Tom. These books are empty, they don't wake her up in the
middle of the night, they don't rub against her when she's cold or ask her
whats wrong when she's crying. These books just absorb her tears--when she
closes her eyes, Tom isn't there to brush them away.
She does her best to remember everything that Tom wrote to her; every splash of
ink on the page that disappeared as quickly as she had read it. She thinks
about what Tom would say to her, if he could. She writes in her
journals:
Tom, no one listens to me, now that you're gone.
Its all right, Ginny. I'm always here. I'm always listening.
I don't know what to do, Tom. I want bad things. I want you.
Want me, Ginny. I want you. Give yourself to me.
I'm not supposed to. I'm not supposed to want you. I'm not supposed to want
anything. I'm too young, I'm too poor. I'm a Weasley. I'm Ginny.
You're mine.
I'm yours.
This book she burns too, but she can't forget what she wrote. She can't forget
that, even as it burned, the words seemed to be disappearing as quickly as she
read them.
END
