Verism

before the beginning

a/n: I'm sure most of you will skip over this, but just understand these simple facts: this is pure [fan] fiction, none of these events have or will occur, this was my own idea and would appreciate it if no one used my plot as their own (I would never steal someone else's idea, so please do not take mine. I worked hard on it.) Any similarities to other works are entirely coincidental (the only exception is the story Phantom by Seasidestyles, which i have yet to read so it does not contain the same storyline or any paranormal ideas, it just inspired me), and I own everything in the story, excluding names and the vessel in which one of my characters is borrowing. This story will have a dark theme, involving the topics of self harm, violence, abuse and death; if you are uncomfortable with any of these, it is your decision on whether or not you will continue reading. I'll stop rambling and let you enjoy this, lovelies.

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What does it mean to live?

I know it's not the amount of people fluttering around praising your every move. I know well enough to understand it's not the concept of having everything you want.

I believe it's more about what we strive to have, regardless of knowing that we cannot obtain it. If life was perfect, hand carved with every detail we craved, we wouldn't be living, would we?

But what is the meaning of life?

That's different, you see. Everyone interprets life in their own perspective. Some may be called crazy, others may be grouped in the societal norm.

I've received black and white answers over the course of time.

One was: "Life is the journey a person takes that defines who they are. It's not the departure and arrival of point A to point Z, it's all the other points in between. Life is about the choices they make, the mistakes they learn from and experiences that shape their future. That creates a story for them that they will have forever. So don't kill yourself, life is a beautiful thing."

On the next hand, another simply stated: "Life is hell on earth."

How do we know which one is the correct definition of something we were never meant to define?

Neither could be right just as easily as both could be the answer. But how could you find something beautiful and hate it at the same time? How could you live in misery when you were meant to meant to grace the Earth with your natural essence?

But we all see life very differently. We might share similar experiences, but we interpret them in a variety of ways.

I never bothered to think why we see things uniquely because no matter how much I would try to understand, I simply couldn't.

I was the outcast.

And many people might believe it is okay to be unlike anyone else. But life to me was about being normal.

What would be the point of living when you couldn't relate to any person in this world?

Sure, I knew I wasn't alone. There are millions of people just like me and yet, here I was feeling as lonely as ever.

Was it self pity? Self loathing?

I supposed.

Or was it the inability to find a connection that would've helped me sooner?

What ever it may be, what's done is done.

Harry was the one person who understood everything when no one else bothered to try. He knew the best ways to comfort me when I was on the verge of giving up. He was the only person like me. Harry was my friend.

Harry was my shoulder to cry on when things became to heavy to carry. He was my rock when I couldn't keep myself from crumbling.

He was the best and worst thing in my life.

Harry builds me up, just to tear me back down. He protects me, but some days I need to protect myself from him. He was my hero, but there are days where I might as well be his enemy.

I love him, but he doesn't believe in love. And with all the strength I have in me, I wish he did.

Harry was too good for this world, while I'm too undeserving to be in his.

But like I said, we strive for things unattainable, things so far from reach you would wonder how we had our grubby little hands yearning for it anyway.