Moya Hermione,
(I know you’re not mine anymore but I can’t imagine a world where I call you anything else.)
I’ve been seeing a mind healer since you left. Well, since I’ve been done raging, drinking and generally stop feeling sorry for myself. He agrees with you that I have issues with communication.
He suggested I write you letters.
He said not to send them but I’ve never been good at following the rules.
I saw you in the Prophet this week. You did well with your case (I always knew you would.) The photographer caught you just as you turned and smiled. I probably shouldn’t tell you I cut out the picture so I could look at it any time I want, but you know me and you probably already know I did. I was never one for half-measures when it came to you.
It’s on my bedside table now, I fall asleep looking at your smile.
I have a hard time sleeping through the night. I know you’ve noticed but I don’t think I’ve ever told you about it.
I don’t know if it’s always been the case, my childhood memories are not that clear, but at least since school. I used to have to cast a silencing charm around my bed so as to not wake up my dormmates.
Waking up covered in sweat with my heart pounding in the middle of the night and then staring at the ceiling until the adrenaline fades enough to let me fall back asleep, that’s the baseline for me. I guess someone with my, shall we say, “past" doesn’t deserve restful sleep.
Punishment or atonement?
I don’t know if I believe in any of it.
I always found myself struggling with the concept of blind faith.
I’ve also never told you what it's like waking up next to you and that instead of the crushing fear from my Azkaban nights or the nightmares from my boyhood, what I felt was… peace.
I’ve told you many things.
Out of passion.
Out of anger.
But I don’t think I’ve ever told you how peaceful you made me feel.
I miss you.
Part of me wants to beg. Buy you flowers. Buy you diamonds.
Another part of me wants to kidnap you and take you away until you love me again.
I’m trying to do this the right way, for once.
I still struggle with talking about how I feel but you were not wrong when you said that I hated myself more than I loved you.
If I wasn’t a selfish man, I would tell you that you deserve better than me, but I’m a selfish man and instead, I will tell you that you deserve a better me.
I’m working on it.
Don’t forget about me, Milaya
Tvoy Antonin