photograph [h.s]

xii

being with harry felt like a dream.
it made me dizzy even thinking that there was someone that actually cared about me.

i grew up being the hopeless romantic girl everyone's sick of. i grew up falling in love with the idea of love itself, with the idea of having someone look at you as if they've won the fucking lottery.

they say that falling in love with an idea will break your heart, but i've found out that people work the exact same way.

i dreamed of having someone look at me with the love and passion only books and movies showed.

being with him was a escape from reality, a distraction from all the shit life had going on.

he certainly was not perfect. but he was human, and he was brave enough to show the world a real portion of himself.
he was hot chocolate on rainy days and white daisies in the summer.

he was leather journals with quotes and soft piano songs.
he was a warm blanket in the cold and tender kisses in my forehead.

he was my sunshine.
he made my demons hide and my fears subside.

the way he handled life's most hard and confusing moments left me dazed and in awe at him. he made it look as easy as a children's game.

no one could ever compare to him.

and that scared me.