Remember to Breathe

Giving Up

Dear boy with the blue eyes as grey as the sky, with breaths as wispy as the rough winds, with skin as pale as the cement beneath your shoes.

You asked me if I could help you find the dust and the water, if I could take you home when you didn't seem to know where home truly was.

You tried to walk but your knees shook as you stumbled, stumbled far too much to be seeing straight.

I tried to understand, but now I realize I never truly will and I wonder if I ever could have, should have.

You asked if I had a quid to spare, a tenner, and even a phone for you to use. You begged with your hands clasped tight, too tightly for your thin, thin, thin, seeming to fade away little fingers.

You told me you were sorry, but you couldn't seem to remember why, or if it really mattered.

You asked what my name was, and it hurt that you didn't know.

I realized that it didn't matter, because you couldn't, wouldn't see me.

I was just the wrong boy, the one who couldn't, wouldn't be able to save you.

I would say I'm sorry, and I am, but you've already gone.

There isn't a part of me that believes, hopes, dreams that I could see you again.

Goodbye,

From the boy who's too tired, too lost, too weak to try to find you, you who doesn't want to be found.

--
Harry Styles throws himself, drowns himself in his books. He doesn't go out, doesn't search for the boy who is some how everywhere but nowhere at all. He doesn't attend any of the school sporting events, doesn't want to see if the boy's shaking knees are enough to get himself up and down the field any more. He doesn't wonder if the boy is alive, because most of him believes that the boy isn't, that maybe he hasn't been for years. The boy is a ghost, a memory that will plague his dreams, and his passing thoughts, haunting him. He tells himself the boy is gone, and there's nothing he can do about it.