❦55 • i l o v e y o u . . . d o y o u ?

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• M O L L Y •

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Sitting down by the big window that has a view to the greenery, my mind is everywhere. When you miss something, or someone...it feels as though you'll never see that person or object again. That's missing. To miss someone because the possibility of never seeing them again is a real possibility, one not anyone would be okay with. You wouldn't miss someone if you knew for 100% that you'd see them again. It's almost like your mind tricks you. You see, when you miss someone, your mind tells you it's because those memories you've shared with them, they're good and you'd like to share them again. But if you knew for absolute that you'd be able to share them and make more memories—your mind wouldn't tell you, 'this feeling is MISS.'

Though, everybody who is on planet earth misses someone. Whether it's an ex, an old friend, maybe even a sibling or a parent. There is someone who you miss right now. And that's okay. It's less likely that you'd never miss this person again, even if they hurt you to your core, ripped your heart out and shredded it into pieces, but, it's still a possibility. It's almost like grief in a way. Correct me if I'm wrong, but it feels as though your heart has an empty spot, and your mind just doesn't know how to communicate with your heart to say, 'I'm sorry, but that missing piece will never be filled again, or might not ever be filled at all, if it hasn't been filled already.'

So, my mind and heart are at a battle with each other. A dangerous war that not even I can fight against. My own heart and mind against each other? And what sucks the most is that I AM my heart and mind. Right? It's me, they are both inside of my body. So, why can't I just stand in between them and say, 'STOP. Let's get along. Let's come up with a solution, somehow meet in the middle. Knowing neither can agree on something, let's come up with something that we both feel is fit. We all have to see it fit, or, we'll all crash into a burning pile of broken hearts and dust from the smoke that will rise from the fire that's been lit within myself.'

Shall I keep going? Or do you get the point?

Maybe, I will see you again someday, Harry. Maybe, someday I will get to watch the delicate skin by your eyes crinkle whenever you smile. Not just a half—lidded, lazy smile that only makes the tip of your nose twitch. No. That smile that makes the creases on your forehead known, the one that makes your big, white bunny teeth show. The one that calls my name and pulls my heart on a string and rips it right of out of my goddamn chest. The one that makes me thank God for putting me in every position that I've been in, even the bad ones; just because I got to you. Maybe all of it didn't lead me to you, per sé, though, maybe none of it did. But it's a journey, my journey that led me to a road for me to walk on, even drive down to get to where you were.

Sadly, it hasn't taken me to where you are currently, but, that's okay, baby. It will be okay, and someday, you'll understand that. If I don't make it out of this, if I can't somehow fight this off and find my way back home without being killed, I promise you, I'm yours forever. I think I've always known I'm yours since the moment you laid next to me on that fucking tour bus and said, "'Talk to me, red.'"

I miss you so much.

Also, I haven't been feeling very well. I have thrown up every morning for the past five days, and Liz keeps telling me that she thinks

"It's time for a bath."

I drop my pen and shut the journal that I found in the old lady—like bedroom that I have been sleeping in. I slide the pen in between the pages, and stand up from the spot by the large window. Liz takes my journal and sets it down on the kitchen counter and helps me walk over to the bathroom. Once we reach the door, she's unzipping the back of my white gown and sliding her fingers through the shoulders, allowing it to drop and pool at my feet. Very gently, she dips her fingers in my lace underwear and slides them down my legs. Letting my hands rest on top of her shoulders, I keep myself stable and let her pull them away from my ankles, and letting them lay with my gown. She stands back up straight, making my hands fall from her shoulders. By guiding me into the tub that's full of warm water, she wraps her fingers around my arm while I lift one leg to dip my foot into the water.

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