Artifice

Letter pt.2

Okay so I know this is corny as hell but I'm a corny person, okay? Also, to clear possible confusion, most paragraphs are Harry going back to the notes and writing them from time to time, that's why they're so choppy — the letters seem short but I promise they are long if you write them on paper (I've tired lol)

-

It's been two weeks since you came in and took the journal, I have no idea if you've read it or not. I can't bring myself to pick up the phone and contact you.

Liz came by the other day and could barely look at me, Liam explained to me in her words that I 'broke' you.

I quit writing. Well not exactly, but I dropped the project I was working on. It nearly got me fired but it wasn't worth it anymore. Now looking back, I don't know why I didn't drop the project sooner.

I should've done everything sooner; told you about that damn journal, about what I did on the weekdays and so many other things. I was a fool, a fool and a coward.

Now I'm alone in my apartment big enough for five people, with a bottle of whiskey, writing to someone who most likely will not forgive me for all the things I didn't do sooner.

I wish you were here. I never noticed how accustomed I was to having you next to me in bed, until the second night that you stormed away with that journal.

I can't sleep most nights because of it, and because I can't shake off the thought of you. There's nights when I can only picture your face when I unlocked the door to the bathroom to find you reading the contents inside that journal.

Other nights I'd stay awake reminiscing on the times we've spent together, our day at Central Park, or when you convinced me to let you braid my hair. It was hard trying to decide which nights stung the most, all equally as painful to go through.

I've found myself going to museums, for the hell of it really. They reminded me of you, I could picture you gliding around the large rooms, pointing out all the paintings and sticking a few silly insults between. I even went to the MET just yesterday, I felt fool looking around and retracing the steps we took the day we first met.

You took a rather strong disliking of me, hell I would of too. I remember telling you that I would chase after you when you finally were fed up with me, and you replying that you would call the cops on me. I've always loved your personality even if you were brutal (in a good way) some times.

The color of the pen changed from black and blue halfway through the page.

It hasn't got any easier, Liam hasn't left me alone saying I'm being dramatic. It hurts even more not knowing how you are, if you're upset or completely moved on already.

I decided that in order to be with you again, I needed to give you space but minutes turned to hours, then days.

I visited your job twice now, each time you were off the clock. The small spark of bravery I conjured would fade away after five minutes of waiting and I made my way out.

The color of the pen changed again and I was conflicted on whether I was disappointed the writing was slowly decreasing or glad it was almost over.

I noticed today you're the only person on this planet that has left me speechless, leaving me in this stage of writers block that I can't revive myself from.

Instead of writing I've indulged myself in the collection of read books I keep in my living room. I've spent hours reading, pathetically connecting every possible character to you. I even picked up Uncle Toms Cabin, just to read your name in the lines.

Angelic; perfect, was how Eva. St. Clare was depicted in the novel.

I have no idea when or if I'll ever see you again, I'm writing this as an escape. A form of hope that one day I'll be able to say this all to your face but for now this is all I had.

Sometimes I wish we were fighting, that I had the courage to barge into your apartment and allow you to yell at me until your throat felt sore. At least then, we would actually be speaking (or yelling) and I could see you.

I miss your face, how you always seem to have paint or some type of coloring marks on your hands, how you pretended to hate when I complimented you too many times; you would insist that I stop but your cheeks were a bright pink.

It's been nearly two months and I still carry around these papers, carefully folded up in my pocket. I don't know why, maybe it serves as a reminder of you. I've kept it in my pocket since I wrote the first page.

The writing ended and I brung my hands to my face, rubbing my temples gently. There were no words to explain what was going through my head.

Every nerve in my body was defying my brain, I didn't want to jump right into his palm over a few letters written most likely while intoxicated.

Either way, leaving the letters on the bed, I dressed myself again.

The time was almost past 1 in the morning and I wasn't sure where I was going yet but I needed air.

Lizzy was already in her room, most likely fast asleep. I snuck out the front door and down the long corridor.

Spring was almost over but the air was still cool in the night sky. Due to today's events and my feet nearly being broken, I made my way to my car.

-

This was purely written when I was half awake, so don't mind if it sounds funny.The next chapter will (hopefully) be better. Please, comment & vote!! :)

(Btw the Uncle Toms Cabin reference is really not that significant, I liked the name Evangeline and her character in the book, Eva's mom loved the name also, there's no secret deep meaning pertaining to abolition or something)