Mint | h.s.

3.7

Harry's POV

Four weeks. A month.

I always thought that fate was one of the most important things in life. Fate was responsible for everything happening in my life. It was fate's fault that I met my ex-ex girlfriend, it was fate that we had the time of our lives, it was fate that she died, it was fate that I met Elena, or should I say the love of my life, it was fate that the time spent with her didn't feel like time at all. It felt like a second, but also it felt timeless. The feeling of our skin touching, lips kissing, her fingers through my hair, the feeling of her heart being in sync with mine made me think if time was an illusion. Is it something that measures events or is it a thing that people made up so that they could count? But how could time exist when I've been in the same room for the past twenty eight days and feel like it's been twenty eight years.

Maybe I'm just a fool. A fool for her. She is the one who provoked this thoughts in my head. Here I am thinking about time's existence. She is the one who made me question everything about my life. She is the one who made me want to be a better person. She is the one who urged me to fight for everything I've ever stood for.

And just like that she's gone. One stupid mistake and she's gone.

Sitting in silence is all I've done, just thinking of "what if"s and "could've"s.

But then again, I come back to the start. What if it's fate's fault? What if Elena maybe isn't the love of my life? What if she's just that one step closer to my one and only?

See, I come back to the 'what if's. It's a non-ending cycle I've been cruising. It's starting to drive me insane. Maybe I am insane, she made me insane, she made me crazy to the point where I have to throw my phone across the floor, so that I don't tap on the phone button right next to her name in my contacts.

Speaking of, it hurts to say her name. Hell, it hurts to even think of her name. It hurts of imagining the letters E-L-E-N-A being connected in that order, forming a word, forming a name, the name of the person whom I gave my heart.

I'm getting better though. Well, I like to think I am. Louis has been one hell of a friend lately, he's the reason I am actually writing this in the first place. He gave me this notebook, he said 'Write down whatever you want, but be honest to yourself, don't lie to your own heart, in front of it'. I know right, who knew Louis – the prank king Louis – can be so careful with his words?

So here I am, at exactly 10.03pm on a Saturday night, writing this. I guess I do feel relieved, I guess that's all I needed, to put my thoughts on paper, black on white. But, I that's all for today. I don't know how to end this, I've never written a diary.

Anyways, until next time.

H.

I let out a sigh and close the black notebook. Placing it on the nightstand, I throw the pen on my desk, not paying attention to where it lands. I lean back on my back, tilting my head backwards, with closed eyes, trying to gather my thoughts and calm down.

Thinking about her makes me tired, not the 'I ran a ten-mile marathon' tired, but the 'I'm tired of the pain in my chest' tired.

I notice the air in the room start to rise its temperature, so I walk out of it. Maybe it wasn't the room, maybe it was just me. Shaking my head, trying to get rid of the rushing thoughts, I grab my coat, quickly put on my boots and beanie on the top of my head.

I head outside, breathing in the night air, immediately feeling better. Guess, that's all I needed. After deciding on taking a walk, since I haven't left the house in a month, I put my hands in the pockets, already starting to get cold. I notice the street lights, the bricks on the houses, the starts up in the night sky, the sidewalk.

Liam once told me that paying attention to details keeps you sane, it's because you're focused on something else, and not the thoughts in your head, which sometimes can get a little tiring. He was right.

I notice someone sitting on a bench, and stop. It can't be her, it's not her, she's not the only one living in this town, people sit on benches late at night too.

Despite me convincing myself that it's not her, I still can't prevent my heart from picking up its pace. I can feel the beat of my heart ringing in my ears. I slowly inch my way to the bench, noticing the person bounce their leg up and down.

Many people do that. It's not her.

I see that it's a girl, with dark hair, the ends a lighter shade of brown than the rest of the hair.

Many girls dye their hair, it's not her.

Noticing a cigarette between her lips, I furrow my brows in confusion. She has mentioned, many times, how she absolutely despised smoking. It can't be her.

Her gaze is locked on her shoes. Even though I'm standing in front of her, she doesn't notice me.

"Thought you hated those." I utter out the words before I can even comprehend what I want to say or how I wanna say it.

She adverts her eyes to me, the same dark green, now looking intensely at me, burning a hole through my heart, reminding me how fast I once fell in love with them.

This is one of those times when I conflicted, on whether time does exist or not. Because right now, I am sure that all of the clocks in the world have stopped ticking away the seconds. Our locked gaze makes me feel like I'm not even breathing.

She gulps down before taking a deep breath. My name rolls off her tongue so flawlessly, causing me to wonder, how did I survive not hearing her voice for four weeks.

"Harry."