half of my heart // hs ON HOLD

eight

643 Days Before

It has been a week and my eye bags have descended enough that the moon is now the largest thing between the two of us, so I finally called Harry. I sat impatiently, playing tag with two rain drops as the red lights and shining devils smirking into my window, the booth suddenly feeling so large with the emptiness of my soul- waiting on King Harry to arrive from his wonderful fabulous amusing yet depressing life- which I find myself enjoying as if it were my favorite movie- to meet me for the only thing besides vodka/beer that we enjoyed enough to drink every day- hot chocolate.

If it were any other person in this world- crossing off the My Suicidal Brother; who doesn't count because my mother fought against me for three days about whether or not he should be burried, so now he sits in fucking dirt probably in pain because he can't take a shower every living second, but living is such a wrong word, so cross that off as well- I would not allow my face to be shown and accompanied by for at least two months, but for some reason, Harry finds himself alone of a list of exceptions.

"Hi, my name is Harry Styles, nice to fucking see you again after three countless months." My middle finger found joy in smiling into a sea of diamonds as I could even feel my insides began to cheer for the warm body finally in the same booth as me, his knees brushing against mine three times, the second I know for sure, on purpose.

"You're unbelievable amount of class never seems to bewilder me Ronnie." As if on cue, I found two of my favorite fingers praising to the puffy clouds as Harry rolled his eyes. It was almost foreign having him around again, I wanted to hug him so badly, I wanted to feel his skin, I wanted to drink with him, I wanted to break the law with him, I wanted to sleep in the same bed as him at night- just so the night sky wouldn't mock me for my loneliness- I wanted to never be this distant from him again.

I hadn't remembered the pleasure of constantly being with someone until you were actually with someone. Minutes seemed to turn into years while I was alone tucked in my bed for seven constant miserable days, and I admired the way I watched Harry from the corner of my eyes smile gently at me every time I looked away, his eyes webbed with rain dropped lashes that made mine look like nothing, even after seven thousand fucking wisps of mascara- he was something else, I'll tell you that.

I felt the guilty urge to explain to Harry in my demented way why I found the need in spending some alone time, but the more I tried out possible outcomes, the bigger the possibilities began tumbling down a hill of shitty excuses, because even at some moments, I felt the largest amount of aching urge to invite Harry over and watch movies until I couldn't open my eyes anymore and allow the not so ice cold beer to settle in my throat as his arm hung around my neck- but the truth was- I distanced myself on purpose, I distinctively ripped up those smiley face french fries from elementary school in my mind and replaced every cloud in the sky with tears- and if you still don't understand, take a trip to hell with me and maybe someone could understand that the creature inside of my was dying.

No, I couldn't tell Harry about Sammy because 1. Sammy doesn't exist anymore and 2. I don't even know who he is to me anymore because a. he was me everything in so many ways that b. I was left with nobody so quickly that the whiplash cut into my skin deeper than any knife could cut a cake. And it was this weird atmosphere inside of my skin as Chompy's slowly turned into this small little bottle-capped store and I was this oversized can, my skin painted over and my letter crackled, my insides were bubbling and the more little dip-shit fucked up people shook me up, the fuzzier my brain got, and that's when I realized, I would explode if someone opened me, so I tucked myself in my fridge by myself until I settled back to a flat moment of Nobody Wants To Drink You Stage.

It stayed like that for days, Harry did most of the talking, the majority of the time I felt alone and his presence slowly disappeared until one night Harry jumped up, running four skinny fingers through his distressed forest evergreens. I tried not to act as if I had no idea what the fuck he was doing but the more I watched his bloodshot eyes turn into misery, the closer I got to the conclusion that I was doing it again. 

I was doing it again.

I was distancing people, I was cutting off their circulations and turning them into states by escaping our country. It was funny because this was how it always was for me. I meet someone, we hit it off, feelings are developed and the I Care About You card comes out and suddenly it is like I can't function and maybe it's because I don't understand how to return the feeling of being cared for or maybe it's because I want to spend the rest of my life with Harry and I've only known him for five or so weeks.

And he left. His skinny legs walked slowly at first because even I expected myself to saunter over and stop him, but I was a broken record and the only part I was frozen on was nothing, Pure Nothing, and I entirely felt sorry for him because number one this is all of my fault and I couldn't even stand up, no, I couldn't even open my mouth to stop his exotic body from escaping my layer and jolting into the monstrous world, because I let him go the night he ran four skinny fingers through his distressed forest evergreens, and I knew a little part inside of me was ready to tell Harry a little piece of me, because something else happened that night- I realized Harry was the gasoline that created the fire in my system- and I loved that damn burn.

As the next three days dropped slower than snow, I watched people pass through the ugly glass windows, and the game wasn't fun anymore. I partially believe it was because I played for over two hours and didn't once see a forest dressed boy, and no- scratch off partially, I know that is the reason I now found a strong hate to that game.

I tried sitting in Chompy's for a while, but he didn't pass through that part of town either. I even tried the diner with checkered everything and even drank a strawberry smoothie instead of banana milkshakes, but when I tried to order kids chicken fingers, my twigs snapped and I crumbed a wad of four ones across the slimy table and sprinted through endless red lights and ongoing snow storms and even crossed a desert and survived a hurricane and swam through a tsunami until I found the   moon asleep in my sky resting against a stone bench that seemed cold from all that shit I just survived with its brain against its palms- the bridge of our friendship setting into an icy smile in the back.

I wrapped my arms around my moon, his beams glaring at me through closed eyes, my chapped lips winking into the wrinkles of his wind-burned rough skin, but the surface melted into a pool of silk into my finger tips, my moon twirling inside of my arms until his neck was positioned three inches from my lips that wanted so much more than just a peck to his temple, so I kissed him again, a few centimeters above his eyebrows until his branches draped around my waist, my foam bubbly around my chest, my legs swarming in the small can, and I exploded like a thousand pieces of crushed up glitter that burned the eyes of the Six Thirty Three Close To Night Sky.

And it felt so right to have Harry tucked into my arms, it felt madly impossibly complexly right.