Before you go... //h.s

Falling

HARRY'S POV:

I understand why Iris did it, of course I do. But that didn't make it hurt any less.

The sensation when she quietly whispered the words, anguish clear in her voice was a crack – like fine glass china breaking on mute. The crystal splinters brought with them freezing and burning my heart all at once; brought a weight that made it hard to breathe properly as the shards shot through my blood stream, piercing and stabbing.

'She's gone,' I whispered to myself in a low, hesitating tone as tears fumbled down my hot cheeks.

I'd never felt this utter, consuming pain before. I'd always been the one to break up with the girl, or on the rare occasion the girl had broken up with me the feelings hadn't been so deep, the breakup had been inevitable and we'd both been prepared.

But this one hit me like a wall of silence, enveloping me in its luring emptiness.

I'd told Mitch, only so I could explain why I wouldn't be coming into the studio for the next short while. If I was going to write anything at all, it would be heartsick, sad songs of pain. But no-one else knew, saying it only reinforced it into my head and every time I remembered we were not together anymore, it hit me like a ton of bricks knocking me to the ground.

I loved Iris more than anymore other soul in the world and knowing that I would never hear her laugh again, knowing that I would never hear her speak or see her friends again, it was hard.

How would I ever move on from her when I saw her when I heard her voice in the murmur of the wind and saw her eyes in the stars?

For the first few days, I'd confined myself to my bedroom, wallowing in pain and pity as I devoured too many tubs of chocolate ice cream. I only moved to get more ice cream or go to the loo. I'd lain on my bed, staring at the empty ceiling as I went over and over everything we'd done together, the memories giving me temporary relief until I had the bitter realisation again that we would never share anything like that again.

It hurt.

My chest was heavy, bending my back painfully with the weight of these beautiful memories that had now become haunting nightmares.

My empty bed.

Iris wasn't here.

What was I now? Who was I without Iris?

I was falling...tumbling quickly into the empty abyss my broken heart had left.

My eyes train themselves on the empty ceiling, looking at the blank emptiness. Hotel like. That's how Iris had always described my apartment in New York. But now my home in LA felt like that too.

Cold and empty with stale memories of strangers. Of people who we used to be.

One foot after the other, so very slowly as though one wrong movement would shatter me, I eased my legs off the bed, rising as I padded towards the kitchen. I needed more ice cream.

Tub in my hand, I shuffled in a halting circle as I made to go back upstairs. But my writing room caught my sight, the guitar sat silently on the stand gathering dust from the week I hadn't used it.

Maybe...maybe if I wrote about this, if I at least tried to express some of my feelings it might help. Sing the words to the silence and hope that the silence drags the feelings away, hopefully leaving me feeling lighter.

I lie on the floor, standing feeling too energetic with the guitar balanced on my stomach as I yet again stare at the ceiling. But I don't touch it. I don't even open my mouth or twitch my fingers to begin writing. I'm doing exactly what I was in my bedroom: lying here alone without Iris and moping through every memory we shared.

I'm in my bed,

And you're not here,

I finally sing something, mirroring my thoughts from earlier. This song doesn't need to be good, this song is unimportant, I just need to get some of my feelings out.

And there's no-one to blame,

But the hate and the pain that you felt,

I sing, my heart hurting for Iris who endured so much for me, not caring about her own health if it meant we could be together.

What am I now?

What am I now?

What if I'm someone I don't want around?

I'm falling again, I'm falling again, I'm falling

I continue, again using my thoughts as lyrics. This song is more raw, more emotional than anything I've ever written before, I'm truly baring my soul.

'Harry?' a deep voice shouts as the door is knocked down before the unknown man barges through the house, my troubled strumming drawing him to me.

'Harry,' he repeats, this time quieter, with more sympathy.

I ignore him, knowing Mitch is going to tell me to come out, write a song in the studio or get a drink. He stands in the doorway, looking at my worriedly as I continue my soft tune. This song would sound better on piano.

But...the piano's on the other side of the room and moving over there would be too much effort ...sitting on the stool not lying down would be too much effort

You said you care,

And you loved me too,

And I'm well aware I write too many songs about you...

I think about all the songs I've written about her, written for her. Watermelon Sugar. Adore you. Treat people with kindness. She. Canyon moon. Fine line. Nearly my whole album is based off her.

And I get the feeling you'll never want me again.

I sing, the higher note my voice rises too almost too much effort, too hard as I give little effort to the singing and my voice cracks slightly. Mitch stills stands there in the doorway, a frown painted on his face as he looks down at me concerned.

'Harry...that songs fucking incredible. Definitely album worthy if you're happy to put something that raw on it...but....fuck,' he finishes shaking his head as though he can't find the words to describe what he's feeling.

Whatever he's feeling can't be bad though. It can't be nearly as bad as the endless falling into an empty abyss my soul is experiencing as cracks spread through my body.

His gaze moves from me, I've been staring at the ceiling this whole time but I can sense his eyes have moved on from me. Probably to the tub of melted ice cream sitting lonely in the corner.

'Alright man, let's keep writing then,' he speaks, a tone softer than usual that I haven't heard him use before. He sinks down the wall until he's leaning against it and he grabs another guitar from it's stand begins strumming the same agonising pattern that I'd been using before. He's that good at guitar; he can simply watch someone play something once and he'll be able to copy it exactly.

As the chords begin again, I mumble out the lyrics I've already remembered and continue, repeating the words that have become the chorus.

What am I now? What am I now?
What if I'm someone I don't want around?
I'm falling again, I'm falling again, I'm falling
What if I'm down?
What if I'm out?
What if I'm someone you won't talk about?
I'm falling again, I'm falling again, I'm falling again...

I run out of lyrics, run out of energy, run out of emotions as that dreaded emptiness once again fills me and when it becomes clear to Mitch I have nothing left to sing, the chords stop.

And so, we sit in silence on the floor, once again hurting over the beautiful girl who I no longer have the privilege of calling mine.

Ouch. I'm sorry but it will get better i promise...
I updated sooner than I planned because we hit 3k!! That's so insane for me I just wanted to say thank you so much to anyone reading I honestly appreciate it so so so much !
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