Was it me?
Was it my fault you left?
It’s been 3 years, Harry. Funny, because that’s how long the band lasted.
By the time our contract with Modest! ended, it was too late. We were too far down into this hell. We had already given up hope of winning this war. Did we ever even fight? Everyone else was pressuring us to come out. To confess our love.
Even Lux.
"Uncle Harry. Don’t you love Louis?"
But, the spark was gone. We didn’t feeling anything anymore.
The day you killed yourself.. Something happened to me as well. It was like someone plunged a sharpened knife into my numb heart.
My numb, shattered and exhausted heart.
All the slits on my wrist. All the struggled cries at night. All the love and effort I put into making you be happy again—
gone. Wasted. Washed away like sand on a beach. Faded like the color of your once bright green eyes into cloudy, despaired ones that didn’t seem to realize that I still cared.
The announcement. Oh god the announcement.
We stood in front of over 1,000 reporters and cameras and microphones, retelling the tale of gagged pills.
It eventually got boring. It got boring telling people the same thing over and over again.
“He killed himself.”
“He’s gone.”
“He’s dead.”
“He left us.”
The thing that really interested me was seeing myself in our fans’ eyes.
I could see them falling apart with every word we said.
I could already see the bloody sinks and tears.
I could picture the prescriptions they would hold in their hand.
I could see myself in their eyes. I was an exact mirror of what they were going to be. I was an exact mirror of what they already are.
But, I didn’t care about them that much after all. They didn’t experience the pain I did. No one would.
So, I’m writing to you now. I’ve been waiting for this day.
September 16th, 2014.
It’s here. It’s finally here.
After years of never ending pain caused by you, our fans, our management, our family, our friends, critics, interviewers, paps, cameras, and blades—
the time has come to end it all.
I held on until I felt I deserved it.
I wanted to be tortured like this.
I watched as the fans slowly began forgetting about the band.
I watched as the lights dimmed on performance stages.
I watched as Liam, Zayn, and Niall began walking away from me.
I watched myself in the mirror. Examining how much my walls have crumbled.
I watched as the memory of you escape my mind.
No. Come back.
I walk down to the attic and find a rope.
Where are you going?
I grab a chair.
Why are you leaving me again?
I tie a knot in the rope and hook it onto a nail.
You always do this, Harry.
I wrap the rope around my neck.
Well, not this time.
I kick off the chair.
You aren’t letting me go.
