Puppy Dog Eyes

Journal

I was still confused. I was still sad. I was still Harry.

Louis was hiding something, good or bad, I wanted to know. He didn't tell me who those texts belong to, he didn't tell me his job, but most of all, he didn't tell me how he was. He would smile and cuddle me to the ends of the earth, but sometimes when I asked what was on his mind, I got nothing . Literally, "nothing."

I can't love someone who doesn't let me know their secrets and thoughts. It wasn't possible. It wasn't love at all.

I wanted Louis to give me all of him when I was starting to give him all of me. Love and affection was mutual. It should be.

I found myself being pathetic, looking and searching for something to know what Louis was upt to.

But what I did find was a journal.

It was deep down in the shelves, behind countless number of books. It was leather and had no lock, title with scribbling letters, My Mind. I didn't want to open it, but I had to. In order for me to sleep and live and love peacefully, I needed to know.

I opened it and a few pages just held small paragraphs, even singular sentences, but others had pages filled.

The first excerpt that I focus on is this one:

       I'm tired. I'm drained. I'm in a hole, full of pain. My soul is dark and has no space for light. I need something that is going to pull me back up. Someone to save me. I just need them. But no one knows this soul needs a new home. I'm going to get one.

That was the only first, and my heart clenched as I turn the rusty page.