𝐓𝐄𝐍 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐒 , w2s

6

we've officially gotten halfway through
the ten reasons i hate you, harold.

if you're reading this, i've already sent the
first five reasons to you.
i've taken a week break from writing them.
hating you drains a lot of my energy.
but i'm back so, fuck you.

a month after we broke up, i stopped
by to grab everything of mine.
i came around when you weren't there.
thank god for that; i might've started
a fight if i saw your face again.

within ten minutes, i had everything.
not that i had much there to begin with.
a few jumpers, nothing more.
i was leaving your room when i found
a letter on the nightstand, addressed to me.

i unfolded it and quickly read through it.
i almost teared up by the end of it, but
didn't, because that would be stupid.
to cry over a stupid fucking letter you wrote.

i put the letter back where it was, as if
i had never read it in the first place.
picking my jumpers back up from your
bed, where i had set them for a quick second,
i left your room, hoping never to go back.

the drive back to my house was a little
less stressful than it had been on the way.
i had nearly completely removed myself
from your life, and it felt nice.
i could breathe again without being nervous.

that night was the first in weeks
where i didn't cry over you until
the morning came once more.

unfortunately, that didn't last long.

i took the next day to clean my flat;
it had become a mess after the breakup.
i'd thrown things, broken things, made a mess.
all of that great shit.

i was sure i had gotten rid of anything
of yours out of my place and given it back.
i suppose i missed a big section of your stuff.
in my spare room's closet, there was a box.
the box had your name on it.

i couldn't remember what was in it, or
even putting the damn thing there.
it was a faint memory in the back of my mind
that the tide had washed away, and now
it was unable to return to the surface.

i didn't even want to look through it,
but something in my mind told me i had to.

a stack of photos rested at the top of the box.
pictures of us and our friends.
i guess they're your friends now, though.
i grew apart from them a bit when we split.
i think the one friend i've stuck with is tobi,
and that's simply because we've been friends
for ages, even before i met you.

one photo stuck out to me.
it was of us; you were kissing me
on the cheek and i was smiling wide.
on the back of it, one of us- probably
you, based on the handwriting, had written
"i love you always and forever".

i couldn't help but laugh.
oh how times had changed.

our "always and forever" had become
an "always been a mistake."

because forever was just a word to
make things more dramatic.
nothing is forever, and even if things were,
love would not be on that list.
love is temporary, no matter how much you
don't want to believe it.

i almost burned those photos, but i didn't.

i couldn't bring myself to get rid of the memory.

so, i set the stack aside and continued
searching through the box.

another stack sat at the bottom, but
these were a stack of envelopes.

i didn't know what they were.
i hadn't put them in there, and
i sure as hell hadn't seen them before.

i was almost hesitant to grab them.
the stack contained around 6 envelopes,
each of them with my name on them.

i grabbed the top one and opened it,
careful not to rip the envelope.

god damnit.

you had snuck these in one day when
we were still together and you were over.

i don't know how you had gotten them
in with the rest of this shit without me seeing.

but now that i knew they were there,
i didn't know what to think.

these changed everything, and i wish
i could go back to a minute ago when
i was thinking about burning photographs.

i sat there, reading through the letters,
and by the time i was done, i didn't know
what i was feeling anymore.

i hate you so much.

after all this time, you were making
me question how i felt about you.
all because of some damn letters.

fuck you and your love letters, harry lewis.

( a/n )
are we wanting to see like 1 or 2
of harry's letters towards the end
of this book? let me know
- mars x