I missed him. I missed him how flowers missed water, how veins missed blood. I missed him in an almost maniac way there's to miss anyone. It wasn't human. It felt supernatural, as if the words "you" and "me" could never be spelled separately again, my mind being too much used from saying "us".
Truth was, me and him weren't us for a while – six months, to be exact. And, for as much as my fingers ached from wanting to dial those well known numbers into my phone's screen, I avoided myself from doing that every single time; I've always had this weird sense of proud in which I'd never - ever - give up first. So, I was still waiting my phone ringing his special tone and yet, it hasn't happened until now.
Our pointless fight months ago became, possibly, the worst day of my entire life – I just hated to fight. I hated arguments, and I've always done the possible not to get into one, especially with him. Especially with the man I loved. But it happened, before I could know, we were crying and giving ourselves a break.
A break I've never wanted to have.
My bed felt shallow and way too empty without him, his scent barely existing on the atmosphere. I blinked twice, every morning a painful reminder of reality: he wasn't there anymore. Every single day I had to tell myself the same old story, in order to my so-in-love mind process and adapt itself for the lonely day ahead. Lazy fingers touched the TV-remote to turn it on, the news channel pretty much all I wanted to watch now... Only because it would, eventually, mention him. How he was going.
This morning, a typical autumn one, my heart ached for more than just news on the screen, it pounded for an answer I've been asking myself for the last months... Was he coming back?
His tour finally ended and I, a proud brat as I've always been, refused to be present in any date but saved pictures and videos from every single concert, watched them million times each, all the moments I saw his face and nothing but the truth sunk in each time: he was everything. Whole. Entire. All.
I ignored the useless narrations echoing around my bedroom as I obliged myself to have a hot shower and wear something more appropriate for the chilly day. But, especially in that morning, everything felt harder without him – his drawers as empty as my lungs trying to get oxygen. The brutal reminders of his presence slowly fading away on my apartment, my heart desperately trying to hold on to anything that could resemble "us", that could actually make me realize "us" wasn't only created by my imagination, but reality.
I wasn't extraordinary – a common girl born in a big city, chasing dreams as any other person. But him, well, he was the x in the equation: the boy who became famous much too fast, the boy that could have anyone and anything he wanted... simple as that. Yet, we had been "us". He taught me how to love, and myself, the complete fool for him I was am, surrendered to him wholly and truthfully. And well, he was no heartbreaker – on the contrary, he was the most vulnerable human being I've got a chance to meet. A true child at heart beneath those five feet ten height.
I examined myself on the mirror: I was young, free and pretty. I could have gone out every weekend for six months and party until early hours, I could have gone in blind dates, I could have meet new people online. But I didn't. I didn't want any of that. Harry was not the kind of person to forget, and, in fact, I was pretty aware of the fact I could never let him go. Except that... jealously and other even more stupid reasons made us let go of each other. And, for as badly as I wished it was temporary, his absence made me think it was the complete opposite.
My phone ringing over the night table startled me from the whole daydream drama, and, being completely distracted before, I answered it without even paying attention to the caller number.
