Canyon Moon: The Making of the 2019 Album, Fine Line {H.S}

Falling

{A/N: Hello! I wanted to take this time to put in a trigger warning. This chapter will be dealing with hard topics, such as alcoholism and depression. Please proceed with caution. I'm also going to put in the numbers of some hotlines you can call if these are things you are dealing with. If you are going through something like this, please remember you are not alone and there's always going to be someone there that's willing to lend a hand. Thanks, guys, and please stay safe.}

"And I get the feeling that you'll never need me again..."

August 31st 2019

{HARRY}

 It's only been less than 2 weeks since I last saw her. It's a short enough amount of time to remember the feeling of her lips on mine, of her fingers delicately running along my skin. But, it's long enough to have lost any hope I had left.

Everyone's worried about me. My assistant's been buzzing around, cleaning up messes I made. Jil's been pestering me about the rest of the album that I don't have. She says it's just a breakup and to use it as inspiration. But, the problem is, I already has inspiration. And I lost it.

I hate myself. I hate myself for what I did to her and I hate the person I am when she's not with me. Before her, there was a hole in my life that I didn't know needed be filled. I wasn't happy but I was fine. All I did was coast along, bringing home girls I didn't care about and pretending like the way I was living was healthy. I was stupid and naive to think I could go the rest of my life feeling like there was something missing. 

I hated the person that I was. But, I hate this version of myself a lot more. At least before, I didn't know I needed her. But now, I know I do and it kills me that I can't have her. 

I haven't left my house since I've been home. No, this isn't home. Solana felt more like home that this place did. I haven't changed clothes in days and my face was pricking with stubble from my beard I haven't shaved. And now, I lay in bed, curtains closed, lights up, with a half empty bottle of whiskey in my hand. If she could see the way I've let myself become, she'd be dissapointed. 

Alcohol helps numb the pain, but it doesn't help me forget. It doesn't help me forget the way she looked when the sun was just beginning to set, how the light danced between her golden hair and made her ocean eyes glow brighter than the sun itself. It doesn't help me forget all those nights we spent, just us, talking about nothing and everything. I can't forget those moments. I don't think I ever will. And I don't think I want to. 

Why didn't she come with me? Why is she so scared?

Those question repeat over and over in my mind, driving me crazy because I know I'll never get an answer. That woman was like the eye of a hurricane in my life, everything was peaceful just for a moment, but the storm is passing back over and I don't think it's ever going to end. 

I lay staring at the ceiling, replaying my favorite memories of her like a movie that doesn't end. Unlike a movie, though, my thoughts are incoherent and nothing is in order. One memory sticks out among the rest.

Daylight peaks through the windows and she and I are slumped over the couch. We're both in our own worlds, she's scheduling lessons and responding to emails and I'm attempting to finish a song I started a few days ago. We're often be found like this, doing our own thing, not even speaking for a while. We didn't have to, though, I didn't need to be speaking to her to enjoy her company.

I keep sneaking glances at her from across the couch. She's sitting with her legs crossed over one another and she's got a planner in one hand and her laptop sitting on her knee. Her eyebrows were furrowed and she bites on the end of her pen, she does that when she's concentrated. Light pours through the window behind her, shimmering through her golden hair and making it look like its glowing. She's wearing my shirt, as she often does when we're alone like this, but I don't mind. In fact, I prefer it. She has her reading glasses pushed back on her head, instead, she chooses to squint at her computer screen. She hates those glasses. She thinks they make her look like she's 80 years old, but I love them.