The rose and the sunflower.
The girl with the golden eyes and the boy with a golden heart.
The girl that believed love was just a fairytale and the boy that believed fairytales are just stories waiting to come true.
'I used to think love was a point...
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surprise update!
tw. idk but just incase, traits ofdepression are described as well as deep self hatred. remember i love u all, this is a sad one
———
Circa 2016
Drowning my sorrows in alcohol has never been appealing. I feel like it doesn't do enough. Especially in a moment like the present's when all I want to be is fucking dead. Maybe that's why I'm lighting my fifth cigarette of the night. Five in a row, I've never done this before. My hope is that if I do this every single night for as long as I wish to no longer breathe, then maybe one day it'll be the thing that puts me out of my misery.
I slump my body against the wall and get a view of the state of my living room. It looks like havoc. It's looked like this since I found out. I catch a glimpse of my phone's screen lighting up. I want to throw that thing away. Throw it in a lake or somewhere that I'll never have to see again. But I can't do that. So, instead, I let the cigarette I just lit hang between my lips while I crawl across the floor so I can turn it off.
Unfortunately my actions are brought to a halt when I see what caused the screen to flash. A text. From Harry. Once again, he's asking - no, begging me to answer any one of his calls. I haven't spoken to him in a week, not properly at least. If I answered his calls I always just gave him the bare minimum. He keeps asking me what's wrong but I keep telling him it doesn't matter. It doesn't.
My heart drops to my stomach, along with the cigarette between my lips. It drops when I part them in shock, getting ash on my shirt but I don't care about that right now. I just pick it up and hold it between my two fingers while staring at the text.
H
I'm in New York
No, no, no, no. He's supposed to be in Jamaica still. He's supposed to be there working on his album. He's not supposed to be in fucking New York. And if that doesn't already begin my panic, I get another text.
H
Hails I don't know what's going on w you but I'm coming to your apartment so we can talk okay?
I feel like I'm going to throw up when I suck in another breath of smoke. It burns my lungs this time but I don't dare to put the thing out. I lean my back against the coffee table and work my way through the cigarette. My thoughts are clouded and the lack of pure oxygen I get doesn't help. I'm thinking of all the ways to get Harry off my case. I don't want to see him.
I'm not exactly sure what my plan was in approaching this situation, but it wasn't this. I needed time to think before I approached him again, time to clear my head. When I found out, my first thought was him.
