Perfection» h.s

twenty four.

      Harry Styles

           I'm literally an emotional wreck right now.

After Gemma and I had finished going to the house, I couldn't cry,and I believe that is real sadness.

If you're so damn broken that you can't even show sadness,  you're just numb. It's getting dark now as I pull up to the flat complex, amd get out of the car. My feet are like lead,  and I have to force myself just to walk into the door.  All the lights are off, and I feel like I'm not even controlling my body as I walk over to the piano and sit down.

"Harry, put your hands on the keys like this." Mum guides as she puts my hands on the middle keys, as I look up, puzzled. "Now press down on your pinky finger." I do as I'm told, and after she's taught me more things, I'm still learning.

"Mum, why do I have to learn this?"

"You'll thank me later."

"No I won't."

"Maybe not now, maybe not tommarow, or the next day, or even 10 years from now. But you will thank me."

One thing I've learned about my mum, is that she's always right.

Even if you really don't want her to be right, she is always right.

I tap my fingers on the keys, trying to get back the familiarity of them. I finally get the feeling I always have when I play, and I start to play Stay With Me, by Sam Smith. It's the song I played at her funeral, and I still play it now, because I feel like she's sitting next to me, helping me with the keys all over again. "I guess it's true, I'm not good at a one night stand." I sing, still playing the piano as I go, "But I still need love, cause I'm just a man. These nights never seem to go to plan, I don't want you to leave will you hold my hand?" I sing the chorus with such conviction, that it scares me. "Stay with me, 'cause your all I need, this ain't love it's clear to see. But darling, stay with me." Everything hits me suddenly now.

My mother is dead.

My father is gone.

I'm so fucking alone.

I still can't cry, as I finish, and rest my head on the keys, dejected. The anniversary of her death is coming up, and I have planned to go visit her, maybe even bring something for her. "Dammit." I mutter, and get up to the kitchen, swing open the fridge, and grab a bottle of Chardonnay. "Mum, I'm going to try and find you at the bottom of this wine glass, and maybe two. Or three." I shrug, and bring out a wine glass and pour the drink in. I gulp it down, the bitter taste trickling down my throat, then stop.

Mum wouldn't want to see you drinking, would she?

Hell no, Harry,you better put down that damn bottle or else I will fuck you up.

I rest the glass down, and do what I always need to do at a time like this, stop and remember.

I remember mum's little angel doll.

I remember how she always told me never to open the piano top, and how I always listened to her.

I remember when she taught us how to cook, I rocked at it, Gemma sucked.

I remember when I cut the wings off that angel doll.

I remember I got my ass whooped, but I was 4, and she already told me.. So.

I sit on the chair, glancing over to the piano, then without another thought, I walk over to it and stare it down. For a few seconds, it's just me and the piano, until I open the top, and see a sheet of paper, and angel wings. I pick up the paper,

Harry,
  I'm guessing that she hasn't told you about what she found yet.

When you do find out who she is, this'll make sense because we both know that she is lovingly selfish.

Very, lovingly selfish.

Remember when you were four, and you cut the wings off my angel?

Remember when you turned eight, and you told me that you belived in angels?

You believe in angels, right?

So you believe in me, right?

Mum xx