50 Reasons I Love You || l.s. short story

Words that are never read are often the most beautiful ones that are ever said

Louis places the final letter in another off-white envelope. At first, he just watches the object before pressing the heart sticker to the seal. Then, he lays it down with the rest. 50 letters, all with the matching envelope and sticker. All identical looking but holding a number of different significances.

From the love of his hands to him as a person. All 50 are equally as special as the one before and after. They take up the entire desk space with the papers, he just kind of looks at them all. Louis can hear his heartbeat crashing through his ears and another set of tears to waiting to fall. One after another with no one to wipe them away with gentle fingers.

Not anymore.

And in the mass of paper, his eyes land on the one that will forever mean more than any of them. It's the letter he wrote.

It's the letter he left and the letter he said to read if he died. With his handwriting and his words that Louis has yet to read. Despite the weeks that have already passed (two and a half to be exact).

It's the fear of what lays beyond the outer layer of the envelope that scares him. Written just for him. For Louis.

My Lou

Is written in the center with little hearts and flowers surrounding the pen markings. The words are in a handwriting that Louis memorized for years. Because it's Harry's.

And Harry's worth memorizing.

Louis takes a deep breath and closes his eyes gently. The room is deadly silent except for his beating heart that still drums in his ears. But it's quieter now. Maybe that's bad though because his heart is reminding him who it's beating for. And if it's quiet, he can't hear him. Louis' not even sure if that makes sense.

The man's eyes open again. They're tired and dull now. From the sleepless nights of crying and sleeping on the opposite side of the bed. Harry's side. That should help him sleep shouldn't it? It doesn't though, because the sheets haven't been washed (Louis refuses to) and they still linger that familiar scent of home.

As he reaches for the paper, memories of the two fill his head and suddenly, Louis regrets even sitting here to begin with. He knew he'd have to read it eventually. Maybe eventually doesn't have to be now.

But it's too late because now, the deal is broken and the letter is being gently removed from the layer. It falling to the desk that's swamped with others of the sort.

And before the man can even finish, he's crying hard on the floor. The letter is held tight in is hands and his head against the wall behind him. His words are incoherent noises of 'no, I miss him. Why. Can't leave me yet. Don't want to. Please.'

The ink spat onto the paper is just as familiar and maybe that's what's making him sob. Or, the words that are formed using said ink.

Dear Lou,

My love, my husband, my beautiful boy, my boo bear. I'm sorry if you're reading this. I'm sorry that you no longer have me to dry those tears. I know you're crying because I know you and you miss me.

I miss you too.

I was in pain. You knew that though, I could tell. I could see the way you'd look at me when I groaned. It pained me more to see you get hurt because I was. Writing this hurts more though, because now, I know that I'm gone. And I still apologize. Even if it wasn't even in my control. Wish it was though, so I could still hold you and you could hold me.

Cancer sucks.

It eats away your will to live and your life itself.

I so desperately hope that I'll have the chance to burn this entire letter. You'll know I wrote this but I hope you won't know what it says.