GOLDEN (harry styles)

espérant, concentré

*trigger warning- panic attack, blood*

(22/09/17)

I sit cross-legged on the edge of my bed, playing with a jewellry box. I snap the lid open and closed in a one-two rhythm, lost in a spiral of thoughts.

I woke up still tangled in Harry's tartan blanket and my sea of thrashing thoughts, both making me feel like I was trapped. I left pretty quickly so I didn't see if anyone else was awake, but by the remaining bags on the kitchen counter I assume they were outside, dozing in their deckchairs.

My phone has been buzzing non stop. Calls, texts and voicemails from family, friends and strangers, all giving their condolences. The current ringing slowly drowns out, abandoned by me as I lose myself further.

I lazily draw my phone towards my body. I may as well see who it was. The luminescent white glow makes me blink a few times, still not adjusted to light. Probably because I've been sitting in a dark room for multiple hours.

UNKNOWN NUMBER 22/09/17 AT 1:32PM
Hey, it's Kayla. How are you today? I just wanted to reach out to you and see how you were doing. If you want, you can always call me xo

My tongue is bitten by my teeth in an unstable mixture of shock and frustration, eyebrows furrowing deeply. I know Kayla. I've heard of her many, many times, mainly when Tyler was still alive. His friends constantly told me that he was cheating with her, seeing her after work every day.

That's what we had been fighting about the day he died.

Looking back, it was probably true. She is the last person I want to talk to today. So why is she suddenly reaching out to me? We didn't even exchange words at the funeral.

I throw my phone to the opposite side of the room in anger, and bury my head in my eyes. Tears brim at the edge of my eyes, coating the skin around them in a silvery shimmer.

Dear Tyler,

I know I shouldn't be writing to you. I made it over two months though this time, two months and five days to be exact. I think it's the longest I've gone without writing you one of these letters.
I still think of you, don't worry. Our memories still plague my mind, making em want to turn back the clock to a time when we were happy, so that I could stop us having that stupid argument and you could still be here.

I don't think I would care if you had been cheating on me. I would find a way to forgive so that I could walk through the fire with you all over again. It sounds ridiculous, doesn't it?

I always get told that I'm too forgiving, and maybe I am. But that's who I am. I can't just wake up one random thursday morning and completely change the basic foundations of my heart.

I've always wondered though, and you don't have to give me a straight answer.

If you were still here, would you still love me as much as I love you? Because I would hate to beg you to love me if you can't do so.

When you died, I was told to go to a grief counsellor. It wasn't that bad, but I just got told continuous bullshit about how it was your time, and it will hurt less every day. Yet, it almost feels as though it hurts more every passing hour. And it breaks my heart because people have started to move on without me, sweeping your memory away with the flow of time and a new flow of people while I just try so hard to hold on so I don't let you go.

I feel you everywhere, and I look for you in everything I see.

You know what I realised last night though? I was so happy. I loved the moment I was in so much, and I could feel every emotion for once instead of letting it be buried underneath guilt that I was feeling something other than sadness. It's my worst fear about love coming true.