25 Letters [h.s]

Letter 12

 Dear Anastasia,

I love music. I love the sounds and the meaning and how every part of a song is just a dying puzzle piece striving for nothing more than to fit in perfectly with every other element of the song. I love how music can paint a perfect sky or put love as epic as ours into words. I love how it sounds when you can hear fingers slide from string to string in an acoustic rendition of a classic. I love how I feel like I'm watching myself fall asleep to piano chords and I love bass drops that can be felt in every heart.

I love stories. I love anything that can portray one, like a book or a movie or even a person. I love words that make up a story, I love how when old people tell a story you've heard a million times throw in little white lies to exaggerate it. I love how you feel the emotion of what the story teller is telling you, I love the suspense of it all.

Bringing me to my next point, I love people. I may be crap at talking to them but there's always someone there for you. If you need a laugh, you know the person to call. If you need a hand, there's someone for that. If you need a serious conversation, there's always someone there for you and I understand that and I also love it. For me, I had all those people to call in one dial, and that's you Anastasia.

You've heard it a million times before, but I love you. Everything starting from the inside and all the way to the outside. I love how you've actually cared about me enough to keep reading these letters, you've read 11 un-including this one. That's weird, I'll always cherish you for that. I love how you understood the concept of forever and decided that your forever shall lie within mine.

I know what you're thinking, how this letter is different. It's not explaining something to you and the sole purpose of this is for you to know that the only way I'll be able to die and not feel dead is if I passed on my life to you, letting you know everything about me. That's why I've told you why I want to commit suicide. That's why I've told you about my perspective of our moments. That's why I walked you through my school life and that is why in the next letters you'll find out what I fear. Or what bothers me. Or what makes me happy.

Love,

Harry.

I've been learning to cope with pain, as most of my life is just one big cover up it, but every time I read a letter, that facade faded just a little bit.

I couldn't help but smiling. I thought of Harry, somehow watching me right now as I let something dead be the cause of this grin on my face at eight in the morning. It had been two days since Louis and I went out for ice cream, and my fingers were always pressed against the screen of my phone, texting him.

Louis made me feel important, but he probably does that to everyone. Whenever I get a lengthy paragraph in a bubble, I don't know why but I think of the time he put into that. He probably stopped where he was to type it with his thumbs, biting his bottom lip as he re read it for spelling errors, something I rarely found in his text messages. He spent all that time to type that out for me, and for the impression it made on himself.

An hour passed of watching whatever cartoon played on my television and scrolling through my phone. Deciding to give in to my stomach's growls, I headed downstairs and picked up an apple and poured a luke-warm cup of coffee into a mug. I speed walked back up in hopes of not running into a family member.

There were a million different ways I could of reacted to what I saw when I re-entered my room. I could have played it cool, act like it was no big deal. I could have laughed my ass off. I could have pretended I all together didn't notice. Instead I nearly dropped my coffee and screamed loud enough to wake up my whole family.