Entry #8: I'm So Tired, But I Can't Sleep
Date: Thursday, 14 March 1999
Characters: Ginny Weasley
Location: Hogwarts
Status: Private
Summary: Ginny wipes the dust from her diary and writes again.
Completion: Complete
It was late, probably after midnight, and Ginny couldn't sleep. She tugged on a pair of socks and parted the curtains around her bed. No one else was stirring. She thought a walk might help to ease her mind. Acting on an impulse, she grabbed her neglected diary and tiptoed out of the room and then out of the tower.
Ginny found a secluded cubby in the wall and squeezed in. She lit the tip of her wand and opened her diary. She hadn't written in it in at least a week (if not longer). But mostly she had been avoiding her feelings altogether...especially since she received Neville's owl.
Dear Diary,
It's been a while, but I was afraid to write down what I was feeling. I was afraid to make things permanent, mark them down forever as the truth.
I wrote Neville. I don't know why. Maybe I was feeling weak. Maybe I just missed him. Maybe I'm lonely...which feels so much like the absolute truth that it aches in my chest now. It throbs like a swollen thumb.
Neville wrote back. It was a nice note. I was glad almost excited to receive it. I opened it with a renewed sense of confidence. I can do this, I thought. I can be friends again with Neville. Then I read the note.
I think I could hear my steady resolve fracturing like a glass as it spiderwebs just before it shatters. He's dating someone. Sure, I should be happy for him. But I'm not. Maybe that makes me a wretched friend.
I don't know what I was expecting. Neville is handsome and kind. He's a loyal friend, and he's strong. Why wouldn't someone else fancy him? I felt jealous, and then I felt rotten for being jealous.
I'm not in love with Neville. I don't know if I ever was, but I did care about him. And somehow...perhaps I'm sorry that he seems to have found his strength and regained his life, and I'm still half-floundering.
I thought I was doing better. I felt like I was making strides. Then, I read his letter, and between me and you, I cried. Cried like a stupid girl.
I wanted to tell someone. To talk to Luna or Hermione or even this quiet, shy Ravenclaw in the library who doesn't know me from Merlin, but I didn't. I thought of telling you, but I didn't want you to know because once you know, it's there for always, and I can't pretend it didn't happen because it's there...written by my hand.
Tonight, I'm so tired. I want to sleep. I want to be happy for Neville. I want to stop wishing that his new girlfriend will fall from a great height. I feel loathesome.
If you were here, Diary, and not a book with parchment for insides, I would ask you to let me lay my head on your shoulder. I'd ask you to tell me that it's going to work out, that I'll be fine.
Characters: Ginny Weasley
Location: Hogwarts
Status: Private
Summary: Ginny wipes the dust from her diary and writes again.
Completion: Complete
It was late, probably after midnight, and Ginny couldn't sleep. She tugged on a pair of socks and parted the curtains around her bed. No one else was stirring. She thought a walk might help to ease her mind. Acting on an impulse, she grabbed her neglected diary and tiptoed out of the room and then out of the tower.
Ginny found a secluded cubby in the wall and squeezed in. She lit the tip of her wand and opened her diary. She hadn't written in it in at least a week (if not longer). But mostly she had been avoiding her feelings altogether...especially since she received Neville's owl.
Dear Diary,
It's been a while, but I was afraid to write down what I was feeling. I was afraid to make things permanent, mark them down forever as the truth.
I wrote Neville. I don't know why. Maybe I was feeling weak. Maybe I just missed him. Maybe I'm lonely...which feels so much like the absolute truth that it aches in my chest now. It throbs like a swollen thumb.
Neville wrote back. It was a nice note. I was glad almost excited to receive it. I opened it with a renewed sense of confidence. I can do this, I thought. I can be friends again with Neville. Then I read the note.
I think I could hear my steady resolve fracturing like a glass as it spiderwebs just before it shatters. He's dating someone. Sure, I should be happy for him. But I'm not. Maybe that makes me a wretched friend.
I don't know what I was expecting. Neville is handsome and kind. He's a loyal friend, and he's strong. Why wouldn't someone else fancy him? I felt jealous, and then I felt rotten for being jealous.
I'm not in love with Neville. I don't know if I ever was, but I did care about him. And somehow...perhaps I'm sorry that he seems to have found his strength and regained his life, and I'm still half-floundering.
I thought I was doing better. I felt like I was making strides. Then, I read his letter, and between me and you, I cried. Cried like a stupid girl.
I wanted to tell someone. To talk to Luna or Hermione or even this quiet, shy Ravenclaw in the library who doesn't know me from Merlin, but I didn't. I thought of telling you, but I didn't want you to know because once you know, it's there for always, and I can't pretend it didn't happen because it's there...written by my hand.
Tonight, I'm so tired. I want to sleep. I want to be happy for Neville. I want to stop wishing that his new girlfriend will fall from a great height. I feel loathesome.
If you were here, Diary, and not a book with parchment for insides, I would ask you to let me lay my head on your shoulder. I'd ask you to tell me that it's going to work out, that I'll be fine.