Let’s say there is a boy and a girl.
(It could, just as easily, be a boy and a boy and a girl with a girl. But for the sake of the story, it’s a boy and a girl.)
And the boy is… bad. Not Voldemort-I’m-going-to-kill-you bad, but just bad. Foul. Unpleasant.
(Look up more synonyms for bad if you’re interested.)
Anyway, the boy is bad and that makes the girl good. They have a relationship- a romance, if you will.
(Relationship is a loosely used term here.)
Then, the boy leaves the girl.
(It’s always the boy. Always. He’s always the bad one, the cheater, the one who leaves.)
Now, if you were following the story, you’ll remember that the boy is bad. That’s why he left the girl, after all. That’s why the girl should be happy to get rid of him. He’s bad. Foul. Unpleasant.
She should be jumping for joy and thanking Merlin’s left lucky sock he left.
The girl doesn’t. The girl never does. She’s heartbroken. She cries and she grieves and she wants him, damn it.
(That’s why the boy is always the bad one, always the heartbreaker. You don’t see boys walking around crying and pining after a girl, do you?)
It’s like a horse that poops. The process is simple. That big ‘ole animal just plops its behind down somewhere and poops. Then it’s gone – the moment is over – and the horse is wandering off somewhere.
(That’s the way it should be. The boy left, and the girl shouldn’t care. He was only a pile of poopage to her, after all.)
That’s the way it should be. But that’s not the way it is. So the girl cries and grieves and tries to mend her broken heart.
(Is that why only women used to be seamstresses? Did only those women have the power of sewing a heart back together?)
But the boy is the bad one. He’s the one that’s foul, and unpleasant. And isn’t it supposed to be him who’s hurting? Isn’t he supposed to be crying and grieving for the girl that was good?
(But the good ones finish last. The good ones get their heart broken.)
If the boy were a candy, he would be one that leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. The sort of candy that looks pretty and smells of promised delights. The sorts of candy good girls fall for and swallow whole. The sort of candy that you wish you could spit back up, but it’s too late – too late – down it goes your throat…
And there’s that bitter taste again.
(That horrible bitter taste. For no matter how hard you scrub your tongue with a toothbrush or how much water you drink, a little bit of it will always be left behind.)
That’s not the way it’s supposed to be. He’s supposed to be only a pile of horse poop. Not a candy. Not a dream. Not a fantasy. He’s supposed to be long forgotten.
(But good girls have a long memory, don’t they?)
Author’s Note: I don’t own Harry Potter, but I do own the chapter title. Well, I said it so now I own it. So there.
Much thanks to Jane for looking this over for me! I love you, dear.