Standing still and moving faster, searching for my next disaster.
Should I be worried about the devious and generally bad thing that I am planning to do? It's rather . . . well, a year ago, I doubt I would have dreamed of doing such a thing. Of course, snogging Draco Malfoy was quite enough badness for me at that time. In fact, that's still probably bad enough for anyone. Though I can't say that I like what he did to Lavender Brown at all. Poor thing. Though she was rather odd to me the last time I talked to her . . . okay, I was odd too. Anyways. I fear that the screws in my head may be slightly loose.
I haven't seen Terry in quite a while damn you, Warrington and I miss him I think. I really do, a lot. But I'm starting to think that I only talked about love because he did, maybe. Maybe because love felt like a good thing to be in. It felt like a happy thing, a safe thing, but now I've found out that it's not. At all. I've found out that it's just broken promises that lead to broken hearts. And I'm starting to think that love is just one of those lies that you repeat so often that you start to believe it yourself. It's not safe at all. Love is like jumping off a cliff and believing that there's going to be a magic carpet there to catch you halfway down. And maybe while you believe in that carpet, it's there. But once you realize that there's nothing holding you but air, that magic carpet turns into a regular old rug and you're still falling. So maybe I wasn't so much in love with Terry as I was in love with the idea of being in love. Because I thought it was exciting and wonderful and would save me from everything. But now I've found out that it won't, and here I am falling still.
I want a trunk filled to the brim with diamonds and enough roses to fill a bathtub, and I want to swim in a sea of champagne and I want to be in love, too. But I know enough to realize that any sea of champagne will turn out soon enough to be dishwater, and that lying in a bathtub filled with roses would probably be quite prickly. And does a girl like me really have the strength to lug around a chest of diamonds when I can't even carry my own books? I didn't think so.
Sometimes it's better to just remain content with what you have: a dorm room with a window that opens onto a roof so you can sit on it and watch the stars any time you like, a prefect's badge so you can walk down dark hallways and be alone with your thoughts and the occasional snogging Hufflepuffs, a large supply of alcohol so that you and your friends can prance around getting people drunk and get drunk yourself when you decide that being alone with your thoughts isn't all it's cracked up to be . . . . So who needs a trunk of diamonds and a bathtub of roses and a sea of champagne? A roof, a dark hallway, and a bottle of bourbon is good enough for me.