Grief is everlasting. Some say it gets easier with time. Some say that the pain lessens. I don't believe them. My grief and pain is still there every day, like a storm cloud following me. It doesn't get better. It doesn't get easier. It's all a lie...
"You're sad," he said, his head hung low, looking over to me from the corner of his eyes.
"Is it that obvious?" I said, letting out a soft chuckle. He was right. How do you try to argue the fact? I had been since we found out about Kurtis, each day slowly but surely passing.
"It makes for great music though," he said, looking up at me, smiling softly, those green eyes meeting mine.
"I'd like to think it as all for something," I said, taking a deep breath, fiddling with my hands in my lap. I felt his gaze still lingering on me and I couldn't help but glance back, the warmth building in my chest.
"It's never for nothing," he said, sitting up straighter and turning his torso towards me, the distance between us only inches apart. "Regardless of fame or music. The things we go through mean something. I look at is as, if I can help someone else go through something with something that I've gone through, then that's the best that I can ask for."
"You're right," I said, poking at the middle C on the piano, smiling.
He's wrong.
"Can I play something for you?" he asked, gently nudging me.
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"Of course," I said, watching him stand up and grab a ukulele, the instrument like a small child in his hands. He held it close to his chest, gently strumming the strings before quickly playing one chord after the other.
Don't blame me for fallin' I was just a little boy Don't blame the drunk caller Wasn't ready for it all You can't blame me, darling Not even a little bit I was away And I'm just an arrogant son of a bitch Who can't admit when he's sorry
His voice echoed off of the walls, billowing in my chest. The rasp of it started to feed the lump in my stomach and I watched his eyebrows furrow, focusing on playing the right notes as he sang gently. It was different than the other music he did when he was in One Direction; more personal.
What are you even doing here, Lana?
"That's all I have so far. I have a few bits and pieces of other lyrics, but I'm a little stuck as to where I should go from here."
"Play what else you have," I said softly, folding my hands in my lap, holding his gaze as he seemingly decided if he wanted to or not. I offered a small smile of encouragement, like he had done for me.
"Don't call me "baby" again"
He looked up at me, waiting for me to take the lead.
"You've got your reasons," I added, jotting it in my journal. I saw him nod his head, the small smile still playing at the edges of his mouth.
"I know that you're tryna be friends I know you mean it"
"But don't call me "baby" again. It's hard for me to go home. To be so lonely." I continued to jot notes down in my journal while Harry placed the ukulele gently on top of the piano. I looked up at him, his face concentrated while he bit his lip.
