Coffee Affair

Chapter Eight

Harry's P.O.V

"Is she okay?" She asked as her brown colored eyes came back to meet mine. Her skin was flawless, it looked smooth and held no trace of acne or makeup. I can only imagine the endless amount of girls who would die to have her skin.

I snap out of my thoughts before I make her feel more uncomfortable than she already seems to be.

"I hope so." I simply state.

She returns her attention back to the poems, l couldn't be more grateful that the poem I had written about her lies at home among my other journals.

"Who was she?" She asks bluntly.

I honestly love this. Not a lot of people would have the courage to question you about your work. She wanted to know who made these words flow out of me so carelessly; these words that I have rehearsed to so many people and none of them have actually given a fuck about the person I was writing about. They all seemed to connect to the story of course but only because they would relate it to their own; a selfish thing to do as a human. But not her, she wanted the truth.

"She was a friend. When I moved out to New York City she was one of the few people I quickly trusted and befriended." She hasn't interrupted me.

By now most people would be questioning me about New York. Oh you're really from there? What's it like? What do you do? What made you wan't to move out there? It would distract me from telling the story and we would be talking about the many things to do in New York, which would lead to us speaking about other places. Which the person would leave with an untold story of something that had impacted one. And I know this for a fact because it's happened before not just with me but others when you sit around and listen to strangers conversations. You start to think if they wouldn't of asked that question that person would of been able to tell you about their story. And now you will never get to know what it was that has shaped them in a certain manner.

She stood their silently, her eyes never leaving mine as she waited for me to continue.

"She got involved with this guy, they knew each other before and had feelings for one another but she just never had the time for him. Well this summer at this small party a close friend of ours was hosting was when they got together and started talking more and putting those feelings into action. She became more distant and stopped speaking to me completely after the three months that she had been with him." Speaking about this wasn't easy and I hated myself for even feeling the way I do at the moment.

"Did you love her?'

"I believe so." I answer truthfully.

"You don't know that." She states bluntly. 

"Why? You don't believe you can love someone that fast?" I defend myself. She wasn't getting under my skin, but I wanted to prove her wrong.