Literature

dusty corners of the heart

It isn't like I never saw it coming.

I was just hoping it would never happen. Lou says I'm overreacting and Liam says I shouldn't skip class over this. Of course they would say that. Who cares about some fucking notes over old dead poets?

Most of the poems we discuss are wedged in bookshelves between books people never pick up. Letters than form words that form sentences that spill from the soul.

Hearts bleeding out through the form of ink but nobody pays them any mind.

I'm one of those poems. Trapped in a book collecting dust on a shelf. Someone marked me once, there are pen marks scribbled all over me, misinterpreting my theme. Searching for symbols, skimming over the deepest parts of me.

I thought the reader understood me.

I've never been so wrong.

Fourteen missed calls and three voicemails. I torture myself by listening to the first one.

Harry, I know I hurt you. Please just call me back. I love you so fucking much you don't understand. We're talking about Rumi in class. I can't get my mind off you-

It's too much. My body trembles as I delete the messages.

My lip is quivering, my teeth sinking in to numb the pain.

You will not cry over this.

I scream. Scream out at the top of my lungs. Scream until I'm heaving for breath because my air is gone.

He was my air.

My mind is hazy as my feet wander to the bathroom. It's glinting on the edge of the counter. So tempting.

I glance at the mirror, my cheeks flushed and eyes bloodshot. I look like half the person I used to be, my curls a wild tangled mess trying to strangle me.

My ears are ringing, my heart pumping so fast I think I'm going to pass out. I grip tightly onto the corner of the sink, my knuckles turning white.

And then I reach for it, the sharp blade slicing into my pale skin. It feels good.

My gaze lands on the crimson liquid collecting in the sink, little droplets slowly slipping from my wrists.

He has his medication and I have mine. Tears blur my vision and my hand shakily drops the blade. It hits the cold tile with a clink and my mind spins. His reflection is staring back at me in the mirror. Soft amber eyes and tan skin. Long entangled lashes and soft pink lips.

Lips that murmured sweet nothings, lips that touched flawed parts of me.

He cherished every inch. Every freckle, every scar, every dip and curve. His lips explored me. Unknown regions.

We reached uncharted territory. We flew to space. We made music and poetry and love.

We did all of the beautiful things and now there is nothing left.

I'm left reeling, my heart aching to be touched like that again.

How could he do this when he knows how much it hurts? He knows what it's like to be abandoned. To be used up and discarded.

Dust collecting in the corners of my heart.

He said mirrors don't really know you. They're a false reality. They don't capture inner beauty.

Mirrors can be deceptive. They show that everything is fine. Happy smiles and rosy cheeks but you're dying.

You're fucking miserable.

Or they can show you what could have been, arms wrapped around your waist, disheveled black hair in the frame. Bright laughter and kisses to my cheek.

I want to shatter the mirror.

So I do, my fist colliding with it. Shards of glass scatter and blood seeps from my hand.

It felt good. The rush that shot through me, I power I wielded.

But then the pain is too much. It's all encompassing.

It consumes me and my mind goes blank, my legs giving way beneath me.

...

"Harry, Harry, H, wake up. Harry baby please. Stay with me-"

I think my body is floating. I've been set free. Everything is bright and stark white. The darkness has faded into light.

I can't feel anything.

But his voice is ringing through my head.

"I'm hopelessly in love with you. You Harry. Only you."

only
you
you
you

"You can do it. Open your eyes love. Emerald eyes. Sharp blades of grass," his voice cracks. "The sun, the moon and all my stars. Harry please. Nothing has ever left me this torn. My heart is weeping as much as yours."

Then it hits me.

This is real.

My heart is still beating but I'm not alive.

I died when I saw him kissing Mason.

I died over and over and over again.

And I never want to wake up.

He keeps pleading with me, telling me I can. Wanting my eyes to open.

But my heart is so tired.

"Help him! Please, please, please," he gasps for air.

he has a pulse
arrhythmia
he needs an AED
losing too much blood

"Don't let me lose him. He's all I have. Don't let me-"

I feel a shockwave to the heart but it isn't enough.

"I love you Harry. I made a promise, remember? I didn't kiss him. He leaned in, I...you believe me. I know you do. I've never loved something so fully, so much I can't breathe. You can't breathe either but I'm here now. I'll give you all the air in my lungs. I already gave you my heart. Fuck. I'll give you everything, whatever you want."

Those words are enough, my eyes fluttering open.

"Oh god," he chokes on a sob, his arms enveloping me. "Oh god, oh god, oh god. Harry. My sweet Harry," he coaxes.

His fingers stroke my scalp.

My heart is swelling, bursting at the seams. Beating with life again.

His.

"My fist connected with his jaw," he chuckles. "I just thought you should know. I hope it leaves a nasty bruise. He can't-"

"I'm sorry I scared you," I whisper. "I love you."

He kisses me softly, his fingers skimming over the bandage around my hand. I blink slowly, not even realizing I'm already fixed.

The paramedics woke me up.

But he brought me back to life.