How I Heal

twenty six

It's crazy how one thing can really change how you view everything from that point onward.

One day you could just be doing something simple like appreciating a smile, or holding the hand of your favorite person and the next, there's no hand to hold.

I think that's the thing about everything around you. Sometimes shits hurts, and when it hits you, the only sign you're still alive is the fragments of yourself that you're subject to glue together because of it.

When I woke up, I prayed it was all a dream. I smelt the bleach and it told me that this was indeed before me, and not just a figment of my imagination.

When I left the hospital, my hand gave a soft wave and my face, a hurt smile, and when I went to school the day after, my fragments refused my touch, so there was nothing to glue.

I thought of many things.

I thought of the amount of steps it took to get to each class, how exhausting it would be for Harry versus the average person. How many breaths I took for the day, especially when I got nervous and it felt like my heart got stuck in my throat. I thought of the way everybody would just go about their daily lives and do anything, nonchalant, completely oblivious to the fact that literally anything could happen to them.

I thought about how often things were taken for granted and how much I hated the fact that I was doing it right now, instead of listening to Henrietta.

I faced her. I could see her mouth moving but I couldn't tell what any of it meant.

She smiled and laughed and put her hand on my shoulder, and I forced myself to give a close mouthed grin and gave her what I hoped to be a "good enough" nod.

(Good enough because I didn't want her to see I was indeed not doing good at all)

Class started, class ended.

School, like life, went on.

I went home. I said 10 words in totality to both my parents and I proceeded to tell them I'd be visiting the hospital.

They gave me questioning eyes but nodded sympathetically.

I was growing awfully tired of that look and it had only been a few days.

Imagine how Harry feels.

I drove in silence, and got there in a similar fashion. I quietly asked to see him, and was brought to where he was.

He looked a lot like a painting, he didn't seem to move from his position at all since the news.

I drew a chair next to his bed and I slowly placed my hands on the sheet.

"Please say something," I whispered.

Silence.

"Harry?"

Silence.

"I see there's some flowers right here. Are these from your parents?"

Silence.

I said nothing after that.

I didn't want to bother him into a conversation.

He eventually, on his own, turned to me, and he appeared emptier than usual.

"Are you.." His eyes fell to his palm. "Are you planning to visit everyday?"

"Well, yes I was going to," I murmured. "Why?"

"I'm not going to be in here long," he mumbled. "I'm more or less, okay."

"More or less, okay?" I repeated.

"I'm fine," he said. "Well, not fine but as fine as someone with a sickness can be. I don't have to stay for very long."

I felt a relieved breath escape as I clenched at my chest, my heart leaping a bit too excitedly at his news.

"That's good," I lightly told him. "What are you gonna do when you get out?"

He laughed, looking at me. "What do you mean "what am I gonna do when I get out"?"

"Exactly what I asked. Do you have any plans?"

"Plans. Like a list of things I want to do? Or somewhere I intend to go directly after? Or just general ideas of what I wanted to do before my life expectancy rate fell?"

I swallowed at his choice of words. "Well yeah, basically."

"I don't know, Vi." He told me, his fingers tracing his tattoos. "I didn't think that far ahead."

I nodded. "Understandable. What's the rush anyway? You'll have a lot of time."

"A lot is subjective," he counteracted. "I'll probably have just enough."

I looked at him with a bit of adoration and wonder in my stare.

"That's kinda cheesy, don't you think?" He asked me and I blinked.

"What is?"

"Planning your life because of uncertainty. I don't think I need a list of crazy things or anything extraordinary to exist. I think that life in itself is an extraordinary thing. And I am already doing the hardest task ever, which is living."

I gave him that similar stare. Sometimes he would blow my mind with the smallest of things.

He looked at me, and quirked an eyebrow, a dimpled smile saying, "You're staring at me, yet again."

"Sorry," I said, not looking away.

He chuckled, his face turning away from me as he grinned and lightly pushed me away.

We laughed a bit.

There he was. The glue my fragments could not refuse.