running [h.s]

seven

I gave back your favorite sweater to you today. It was a beautiful burgundy color. Like blood. You gave it to me when my hands were shaking and I couldn't make sense of the world.

I'm sorry that I wasn't there when your hands were shaking and you couldn't make sense of the world.

I didn't say anything to you, as usual. I wanted to say something. But to be honest, I don't know what to say. Am I supposed to say, "I'm sorry that I wasn't there for you when you were at the deep end"?

I really don't know.

I just miss you and I'm starting to think that it's all my fault. Maybe if I would stop dwelling on my sadness, you would still be here.

But now I'm left alone with shaky fingers and a mind full of regrets. And it's all my fault.

No one understands, Harry. You were the only one who understood. I'm so sick of speaking words that no one understands.

Closing my eyes is the worst. Because the only thing I see is your smiling face one last time. And when I open them and you're gone I can't help but miss you even more.

I can't even blink without you etched inside my eyelids.

Maybe that's why I barely sleep these days. I used to have dreams about you, but now they're just nightmares.