Lonely Nights // H.S

22.

'The way she shows me I'm hers and she is mine'

*

Mornings with Harry may be my favourite. When he always wakes first, spends a while just watching me, then briefly leaves the bed to make a tea and some toast before he returns and wakes me with kisses. The breakfast is barely eaten, the tea left to go cold, because the moment my eyes meet his all I want is to feel him in every possible way.

It seems quite domestic to behave like this, as if he won't return to his everyday life at the end of each weekend or morning, rushing off to avoid suspicion as we've both been doing for the past few weeks since this resumed. And watching him leave every time does hurt, I suppose. A slight ache in my chest wondering if it will be the last time but holding onto the memories of the night before. That scrapbook I told him about is overflowing now, in desperate need of more pages sewn into the seams.

Perhaps that is why we cannot keep our hands off each other. Both of us know that this could end imminently, and it probably will at some point, whether he leaves his fiancée or not, but in truth I've stopped worrying for now. What has struck me is that while I love Harry only, he loves two women, and it's not his fault that it occurred. Of course, he sought Prue because he thought his chances with me were to be a fantasy, but it is not a mistake that his heart then found comfort in someone that could provide it the way he needed. And he does need that kindness. If Prue provides it then I will never hate him for accepting it. But I also know that what we feel for each other cannot be ignored either, and we're both trying to navigate it without understanding it yet.

I've learned that while love can be simple, it can take a while to get there, and that is precisely what makes it so addictively maddening. We resist it for so long, but no matter how far we travel it always follows, and part of us enjoys the way it pricks us with its thorns every time it gets too close. It is a torment, I suppose, the kind that has you tossing and turning each night while also replaying every moment with the person your heart desires.

There are so many lessons to learn from experiences like this, but so often we tell ourselves that we do not ask for them, that it was never the intention to take on such a journey. It is messy and painful and so confusing. Aggravating, really, especially when you love the one person you cannot have completely.

But then you start to feel all the good it can bring, and you realise that perhaps it is only scary when you consider the weight of those feelings alone. The moment someone shares the sentiments, everything makes sense, and that fear, though still very vivid, becomes an afterthought.

Harry has a lot of fears, most I still do not understand. I cannot hate him for love allowing him to find joy in life despite these fears.

This morning, he let me wear his t-shirt, insisted on it, really, after we worked ourselves to another tiresome nap before finally leaving the bedroom. He watched me pick out a jumper from my wardrobe before he told me to stop. Then, ever so slowly, he walked towards me, holding the t-shirt in his hands, until he was close enough to tell me to lift my arms and slide the material over my body. His hands lingered for a while, pulling me towards him so our lips met again, and we found ourselves knocking things off the dresser. But once we admitted defeated, our breaths too heavy to continue, he laid on the bed again, and watched as I brushed through my hair, looked out the window, found something to wear on my bottom half.

The sun shining over his bare skin like it was made for him alone. Highlighting every contour of his body, painting him like the greatest piece of art known to man. I found myself compelled to take a photograph of him then, as if it were most natural thing to do. He protested at first, but only with a charming smile that radiated joy, and in that moment, I took some of my favourite photos of him. Ones I intend to draw eventually, because he seems to be my only muse these days.