Always On My Mind (Sequel to Always In My Heart)

Chapter 1- Broken

July 20, 2015

Dear Diary,

Well, it has been exactly two months since the best AND the worst day of my entire life; my graduation night. Things have not been the same since the incident and I highly doubt that life will ever return to its original state. The times have been tough and getting through these past two months has been one of the most difficult things I have ever had to do.

Harry will never be the same after the incident. The night of my graduation not only damaged him physically, but also mentally and emotionally. He has been a wreck from the second he woke up from the coma and I really wonder if he will continue to be like this for the rest of his life. It has been like taking care of a baby; having to constantly be there to care for them, watch them, and comfort them. I know that Harry can't help it and I do not mean to sound the slightest bit selfish, but it is taking a toll on my mind.

But I will always, happily be there to take care of My Green Eyes because I love him. I love him more than life itself and I would do anything for him. A part of me feels responsible for allowing this to happen to him, so it adds to the drive of wanting to care for him.

Funny how quickly things can change. Harry went from being the one to protect and care for me, but now the tables have turned. Harry has become a defenseless, fragile bird with broken wings, and that is why I am here.

I am here to care for my broken, little bird because he needs me. He needs me to help mend his broken wings so maybe, someday he will be able to fly again.

But for now, my broken, little bird remains grounded, unable to soar like he used to. And I hope to one day, give him back the wings he so greatly deserves.

_______________________________

I gently close my diary with a sigh, blinking down at the smooth, leather cover. I lie on my stomach on Harry's bed, my feet up in the air with my ankles crossed. I look up and stare out the glass wall at the beautiful, early morning sky. The sun has just started to peak over the horizon, illuminating the city below with bursts of fiery orange and yellow.

I run my hand over the leather cover of the diary, wondering what is in store for me today. After the incident, I decided that I wanted to start a diary. Sure, that may sound like a preteen thing to do, but the dream journal just wasn't cutting it anymore. My dream journal only helps to cope with things that occur in my nightmares. Two months ago, I learned that I needed to separate my dreams from my reality. I learned that not only did I need to write down my dreams and nightmares, but I found that I needed to also write down my real-life experiences in a separate source.

It is such a relief knowing that you have an outlet for your built-up emotions. Taking your internal feelings and making them a physical thing is one of the most satisfying, beautiful things you can do. I believe that is why I have always enjoyed art so much. Art is an outlet for my many emotions and it's therapeutic to put raw feelings on paper.

I scoot off of the bed with a grunt, laying the diary down on the nightstand. I put my arms above my head, stretching tall and closing my eyes. I slowly return to my normal stance and walk over to the bedroom door, opening it and making my way down the hallway.

After the incident, Harry has begun to have absolutely awful nightmares, even worse than mine. It is, now, very rare that I ever receive the privilege of a good night's sleep. Ever since Harry was released from the hospital, I have been staying at his house to help take care of him. Two full months, so far, I have been caring for my wounded, little bird.

I have not had a nightmare in a long time, only occasionally dreaming about random things. But I am quickly ripped from those dreams when Harry begins to have his nightmares. I always wake up in the dark bedroom to a distressed Harry, screaming and crying at the top of his lungs. I have to quickly shake him from the nightmare, only to have him open his eyes and begin to sob harder, reality hitting him like a freight train. I usually hold him close for the rest of the night, his head cradled in my arms, feeling his body shake from his quiet cries. It has become such a routine that no part of it even phases me anymore.