The Breakup + Harry Styles

02

[his things and hers]

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Harry looked horrible. In all honesty, he couldn't care less about all the stares his co-workers gave him. He didn't give a f.uck what they were thinking, and at that moment, he literally just wanted to pull all of his hair out. He had almost done just that this morning when he first woke up, sat down with a cup of coffee in his stupid, dull dining room.

All morning, he pulled on his brown, unwashed, and unruly hair.

Now he was back in the stupid, same grocery store he worked at everyday of his college years. Everything in the store was the same. The stupid black tile. The stupid shelves of food that he had to restock everyday. The stupid people in it. Everything—you guessed it—was stupid.

It's been a month since the breakup. And it's also been exactly two weeks, four days, and five hours since he last saw her. He's been counting—only because time had seemed to be slowing down and there was nothing else to do.

He had seen her last when she came to his apartment, to drop off his things that was kept at her place. She brought back his comfy warm T-shirts that she—arguably—didn't steal from him for the long nights when she couldn't see him, and resided to pulling those tees on and smelling him, pretending he was holding her.

She brought back his toothbrush, razor, and other necessities he needed whenever he would stay at her place. She even gave him back most of the things he had gotten for her as a gift, in which he insisted for her to keep. She argued to no end that if he wouldn't take them back, she would only resort to throwing them away. So he had no other choice but to take them from her.

That hurt him the most.

It hurt him, knowing that she really was forgetting about him. She was ridding of all the things related to him, and she was taking him out of her world. With all his things given back, he felt deleted; erased; invisible in her world. Nothing to remind her of him.

"Where's my blue scarf?" She had asked him when he finished gathering all of her stuff from his place. She dug around in the box of the things she owned—that Harry previously owned because he kept them in his place and he owned her along with them.

"I don't know. I can't find it," was his fibbed reply.

"Are you sure? I left it here a long time ago."

"I don't have it." He insisted.

At first, she looked like she wanted to argue on, but she saw that there was no reason to. He clearly said he didn't have it and she took his word, and left with the box of her things. And even though she knew him enough that he was probably lying, she didn't want to press on. If he wanted to keep it, then she wasn't going to make him give it up.

It was her favorite scarf, and it was his favorite as well.

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(written 2/21/14)