My friendship for Harry is laying on green grass on a hazy summer afternoon, hot chocolate in winter and swing sets at the park... But my love for Harry is poetry written by hand in leather journals, dried flowers pressed into novels and open button...
A/N: 1.3K READS THAT IS INSAAAANEEEEEE thank you, from the bottom of my heart, thank you! Enjoy! I love reading all your comments as well they make me laugh and feel so warm knowing you're all enjoying this story as much as I am writing it.
Harry's POV
August 6th, 2016:
I wake up alone in the large bed to the sound of drizzling rain outside, the smell of her perfume on my pillowcase. I smile at the thought of last night. The way her body moved in reaction to my own. I stand and stretch, sculling what's left in the tall glass of water beside the bed. I go to the bathroom, scratching at my messy hair when I look up to the mirror. The words, 'You still feel like home' written in her signature cherry red lipstick, the same shade she wore on Christmas.
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I smile and take a shower, cleaning last night off. I get out of the shower and look back at the mirror, smiling warmly, sure of the fact she's probably in the kitchen, or in her room packing her bags for her flight tonight. I throw on a fresh pair of black tracksuit pants and walk to her room shirtless, knocking on the door but it opens slowly revealing an empty room. No bags, no makeup, bed made, no charging chord at the power plug... No Tilly.
"Tilly?" I say aloud as I walk to the kitchen. She's not here either. Her shoes aren't even at the door.
No, surely, she wouldn't do that. She wouldn't leave without saying goodbye.
I walk to kitchen bench and find a note written in black ink, it's her handwriting.
'I'm sorry I had to leave. I suppose duty called... and I answered. I found out late last night that I'd be getting an earlier than expected flight before I came to your room. Thank you for an amazing week. Please, don't be scared to stop by my apartment when you're back from your writing trip. I'll miss you H. Love always, Matilda.'
I throw the note down and look to the glass doored cabinet and pull out a bottle of 2009 Knob Creek whisky and take a glass from the kitchen cabinet, moving to the lounge to take a drink. The feeling of not being able to say goodbye eats away at me. I can't believe I ever did this to her, I don't understand why she could do this... But as we both know all too well, when work calls we answer. I watch out over the city as I drink the whisky, downing it faster than what's recommended. I finish a few glasses, followed by the rest of the bottle and go to the bedroom and lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. My eyes feel heavy from the lack of sleep and alcohol. I close my eyes and allow myself to sleep, dreaming of the girl I continue to let slip away.
I awake with a huff and turn my head, looking at the clock on the bedside table which reads 12:01pm. Noon. I roll over and see my guitar, practically begging me to play her. I stand and get the guitar, hazy from the alcohol in my system.
I take my guitar and strum a few chords, shitty from the alcohol and hum along a melody similar to the chords I pick at.
*Play song now: From The Dining Table by Harry Styles*
