Before you go... //h.s

All of the Stars

It's midnight on the 13th December. Midnight in England that is, it's only four o'clock in the afternoon where Harry is. But I can't help but be acutely aware that his album is coming out in eight hours.

That means eight hours until the world hears out story, or at least part of the story if he even decided to keep those songs on the album. Who knows, maybe after we broke up, he deleted all those songs because he was angry at me and they reminded him of me.

But I'm not tucked in bed watching an old film, I'm sitting in a field near my house, my knees tucked up to my chest in some futile attempt to keep me warm. The air in that house is suffocating, the hidden sense of illness trickling in every breath and I couldn't bear it anymore.

So, whilst my brother remained awake playing video games to hide his hurt, my mum slept and my dad counted each of my mum's rasping breaths, I'd silently left the house.

Why I'd ended up in this field – I had no idea, but as I cradled myself whilst sitting in the muddy grass without a care about how muddy my clothes were undoubtedly getting, I felt so helpless. There was absolutely nothing I could do about my mum's impending...departure.

And I hated that, that was why I was always organised. That was why I always overthought. Because then I would be prepared for any situation, be prepared for anything so nothing would surprise me. But nothing could have prepared me for the frail body and dull eyes of my mother I saw when I entered the kitchen a few days ago.

I stare at the stars, the sight of them filling me with some kind of comfort. The stars had been the thing I'd missed most whilst I was in New York, like I'd told Harry one of the first times we'd hung out and looking at each constellation was bringing me some solace.

A deep sigh left my mouth as I stared at the stars and wondered when everything had gone so wrong. I felt a small cold droplet trickle down my cheek, a second one following it soon after. The cold air made it feel as though the tears would turn to icicles on my face, but I didn't care.

Flopping backwards, my head landed in the muddy field, my hair probably matting with clumps of the brown stuff. But from lying here...I could see the stars.

I hummed a melancholy tune under my breath, wishing harry was here. He'd know what to do, he'd know how to comfort me, if he was here, he'd sing to me.

I wonder if Harry was looking at the stars in LA, if he was thinking of me whilst he watched them.

Shut up Iris, just because you're fucking pathetic and can't move on, Harry probably has. It's been three months, he won't be thinking about you every second like you are about him.

But how was I supposed to get over him when everything I see reminds me of my green eyed boy; I see his laugh in the rustling of the leaves and his eyes reflected in the buds growing bravely from the hedgerows.

I stare at the stars, tracing the constellations of Ursa Major and the Plough with my pointer finger, connecting the stars with an invisible line.

I haven't appreciated them enough whilst I've been here, this is the first night I've sat out and really looked at them, appreciated their beauty and told them my most private thoughts.

I was only supposed to be here a week but with everything i now know, there's no way i'm going home any time soon. I need to be here, for my family.

I stare at the dark night, at the inky sky and moon only partly visible from the dim clouds covering it. But my star is up there, somewhere, watching me and making sure that everything happens for a reason. It's the only reason I can get through everything shitty that falls in my lap – I know that it's all going to happen for a reason, even if I want to scream 'it's unfair' at my star when it happens.