Hollow Highs [h.s]

Epilouge

Dear Harry,

"I mean- yes we're sinking, but the music is exceptional."

I finally understood it. I finally understood how sinking is inevitable. How we, born from dust shall ultimately return to dust.

Albeit we're sinking, it's important we listen to the songs that the chaos sings to us.

We can't postpone all that must happen. We can't gain control of things that have a pure nature. Death, life, birth and love cannot be controlled. They cannot be harnessed by the simple man.

Love.

People don't like love, they like the butterflies that erupt every moment their lover glances at them. The do not love love— love is sacrificial, love is ferocious, it is not emotive. Our culture doesn't want "love love" , it only loves the idea of love. It wants the emotion without paying for it.

But I don't want that. I want love with all its adversity and pain and hurt. Just like you said, "I needed something raw".

You bring out the best in me. I don't mean better manners, or a sense of maturity, or whatever else this tired and twisted world expects of me. I mean you make me want to climb roofs, run wild and act inappropriately, take risks and purse my dreams with all passion and integrity. Around you, I start living.

Growing up, I always thought love was red roses, dates on Saturday nights, little velvet boxes that held expensive things and always knowing what to say.

I thought true love was a lingering kiss in the rain, deep explanations and that good old perfect story.

But now I realised it's, not that.

True love is taking ugly pictures of each other and keeping them as your own. True love is kissing at 6AM despite what you think and singing at the top of your lungs.

It's saying all the wrong things at the wrong moments. It's being sarcastic and honest even when it hurts. It's late hours of long sleep when it's been a bad day and it's no make up and bad hair.

It's tears of laughter, its tears of sadness and it's nothing like a storybook. It's never running out of things to talk, and it's being in comfortable silence of things and yet breaking it at the same time.

True love is watching Finding Nemo even though you swore on your life you never would. It's getting mad on small things like "you idiot" and "you little shit" and knowing how strong your fortune must be to hear those words cascade down.

It's spilling your feelings out at 3 a.m when you should be asleep. It's that song on the radio can always make you smile.

It's the worst story that every happened, but thank God it worked out. True love is never losing magic. True love is not leaving when the ship is more than halfway through the water.

I like my definition more.

For its you.

My love.

My Paris.

Love,
Eliana