Yellow || hs au

| 100 |

—

My entire life, I've constantly been told I think too much. When I was younger, I never really saw that as a bad thing. I analyzed every little detail about everything. I thought a lot about the books I would read, sometimes I never even thought about what the book was truly about. Instead, I always found myself lost in thought about how wonderful it would be to disappear into a fantasy world of a book. Like Harry Potter, or when I was really young, The Magic Tree House.

Sometimes I even thought about what it would be like to live in a certain painting. I would create stories out of simple pieces of art, utopias that I found myself wishing I could live in forever. They always had one thing in common, no matter the painting or story. I was always, always, happy. Thinking back on that now, it's actually sad. I was too young to be fantasizing about being happy, I should've been happy. I was a child, happiness should've been the main emotion I felt. But it wasn't. I'm not sure if it's ever been a constant emotion I've ever felt, even to this day. Of course I've felt happy, but it doesn't ever seem to last. And maybe it doesn't or maybe it's not supposed to, but it seems for everyone else, it lasts forever.

Thinking too much never really bothered me until I realized that I wasn't thinking about living at Hogwarts anymore. Instead, I'm thinking about how shitty I feel and trying to understand why. Instead, I spend my days wondering where I went wrong and what I did, to deserve to feel like this. Now, I wish I could just turn my mind off. Now I see why thinking too much is brought up as something bad. Because it tears you to pieces, over and over again with zero mercy. Your own mind, can be one of the most dangerous places to be. And you're alway by yourself. There is no one to protect you from the dangers within your own mind. And that scares me.

I sigh heavily, closing the cover of my new sketchbook, tossing it to my coffee table, followed by my mechanical pencil. It bounces on the cover of my sketchbook and rolls off of the edge and lands on the carpet beneath the table. I lean my back into my couch, pulling my knees to my chest as I tug my fingers through the roots of my hair. I hold them there for a long moment, my eyes screwed closed as I sit in the silence of my apartment. I roll my lips into my mouth, pushing my fingers all the way through my hair until my palms rest at the back of my neck. My eyes flutter open to meet the emptiness of my apartment, my chest heavy as I let out a long sigh.

It's been an entire week since I found out about Harry cheating. I don't necessarily like to call it that, but I don't really know what else to refer to it as. And since I last saw him on Sunday, I've had a lot of time to think. It's Wednesday now, technically Thursday, because it's two in the morning. I've been trying to think of a way to talk to him, I know we need to talk, and I don't want things to end like this between us. I just don't have any courage or motivation to bring it up to him, because every time I think about it, I can't get the image of him with her out of my mind. It hurts all over again, and puts me right back to square one.

But no matter how much I think I want to hate him, I can't. I can't hate him. He's still my Harry, and he'll always be the one I fell completely in love with. At the end of the day, that never changes. It can't. He was the first one I ever loved, and maybe the last. But things are complicated and I am not in any sort of condition to start making any decisions regarding our relationship. A week isn't long enough for me to process everything. But god, I wish it was. It's exhausting to constantly pick apart the same situation over and over again, in hopes to find a solution by the end of it. But I never do. Because the only solution I can come up with is not having Harry in my life anymore. And I don't think I like that solution very much.

I'm not thinking rationally. I'm sleep deprived and I'm hurting. I haven't had anyone to really talk to because I refuse to shove any of this down Zayn and Tiffs throats. Not when they're getting married. They have their own lives to worry about, and Harry and I's relationship isn't something they should be worrying about in the first place. Not anymore. They're taking a huge step in their own life, and I'm not letting what's happening between Harry and I, ruin anything for them. I'm putting aside my own problems and feelings to make sure that when Tiff texts or calls, that I'm one hundred percent there for her and listening. Just like she always does for me.