entry 365 ➸ harry styles

III

{ fire meet gasoline - sia }

in my sleep, im a child again. i have no troubles and i dont feel helpless. i dream of my parents, my siblings; who will only ever be a fragment of a memory that has defined who i am today.

but you see, in my dreams i have comfort. freedom. love.

for those perfect hours i dream im visited by the dead and i find myself whole again. there isn't a void filling my stomach. but that night, that night the boy who goes by the name of harry styles had tore me down.

my sweet dreams had turned into bitter nightmares at his words, his words wounded my already sliced skin and his poisonous gaze made me feel awful. his emerald eyes were no longer loving and soft, they were dark and frightening.

i screamed in these nightmares, but nobody could hear me. why could nobody hear me? why was i invisible in the place most people found comfort in. i was drowning in my own, cruel mind, but i was surviving nonetheless.

sweat riddled my forehead as i jolted up from my nightmare; i was breathing excessively. my dull grey eyes were in their own world as they stared at the empty room i was located in.

riddle me this then. how could i possibly call them nightmares when the mares dont leave my presence when im awake?

i slowly sat up, grabbing the back of my neck. there was a shooting pain, an intolerable one, and i winced as i gently held my own neck.

why did everything hurt? everything in my body was pleading me to eat, to find someone, to love someone. it ached and begged and pleaded but i was selfish. i was selfish to myself - i didnt deserve companionship.

depression was selfish to everyone, especially harry styles.

my legs staggered as i heaved myself up from my tear stained sheets, i barely had the energy to pull myself up from bed. and if i had the choice id have chose to never go through another morning again. id have chose to never face another wretched day on that god forsaken earth.

stiffly, i moved my whole body across the floorboards, had i been a heavy body they would've surely creaked. but i was lightweight, no noise escaped the floorboards just like words rarely escaped my lips.

i trudged out of my bed room and poured myself a glass of water, putting my pale lips to the cold glass, refreshing the back of my ridiculously dry throat. but i wasnt surprised. id cried so much i hadnt even realised it.

i tried to eat, but the lump in my throat got in the way. it'd been that way for 7 years. i only rarely ate when it was needed, every other day id munch on stale imperishable. it wasnt much - but it gave my body something to keep fighting for, but even that was slowly but surely giving up on me.

i peered over to my front door and noticed a letter - a pale green letter, i couldnt make out what the front said, but it was odd to see post that early in the morning. it wasnt there when i entered my house.

cautiously, i stumbled over to the petite material and bent down, retrieving the little envelope which had 'myla' written on the front. i inhaled heavily, not knowing who it was from.

i didnt want to open the mystery in front of me, but my temptation got the best of me and i found myself tearing open the lovely letter with my name written carelessly on the front.

the paper crumpled beneath my bony fingers, i scanned over the letter before reading;

'dear myla,

i dont know what to say, or do. what can one say in a situation like this? i dont know how i can make you understand why i said what i did, and in a way i dont deserve that opportunity. i dont want you to think im making excuses - i promise you this isnt why i wrote this.

im hurting. and i think you are too. i know you want nothing to do with me now and i cant blame you, thats okay myla.

i really hope we could meet some day, maybe at the coffee shop where everything went wrong. i wont make an appearance there if you dont want me there, though. of course thats assuming you havent ripped this letter up at the sight of it, in which case im just writing to myself.

call me what you will, but im not a nasty person. the guilt will eat away at me for a long time. its unbearable. im not a monster no matter how monstrous my actions were.

if you want me to stay away for good then i will, but i need to hear it from you. if that be calling me on my number or sending me a letter back yourself, but the silence wont drive me away. im not a quitter, and i wont give up on a beautiful girl like you.

i hurt you, and im so sorry, please let me make it right.

please.

- H.S'

my body couldnt help but respond to the letter with joy, a happiness eluded my thoughts that i never thought i could even have. but my mind had a different vision, my mind didnt see the sincerity in this lovely boy's letter. my mind convinced me that he was sick; that he was twisted.

i scrunched the letter up, not yearning to read his words again, i wasnt made for company, and i sure enough was not made for love.

everything in that letter was bittersweet; my mind and heart were fighting to call the number he'd left, but ultimately i decided against it. he didnt care. why would he care about a girl he tried to tear down?

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the second day had arrived since the incident at the coffee shop with harry and i couldnt get his stupid eyes out of my thoughts. i found myself often wanting to root through the bin i threw his letter in, but i never actually did of course. even i knew i deserved better than what he said to me.

another letter was placed on my doorstep later that night, and i didnt hesitate to open it. surely there wasnt anything he could say that would make the resentment i had for him leave, right?

i began reading this one out loud.

'dear myla,

i havent got a response from the first letter i left on your doorstep; but thats okay, i understand.

but because of this ill assume you're not done with me. these letter can stop, all you have to do is tell me.

my sister, gemma, is telling me to stop doing this. she wants me to leave you alone and let you forget about me. and i should, shes right. but theres something about your gleaming grey eyes that i adore, i miss them.

my mind is aching to hear your soft voice, every wrong doing id done in the past went away when i heard it. had we met when i was in the right frame of mind maybe we would have been incredible.

my heart is guiding me to you.

im sorry okay.

if you want me to stop, i will.

-H.S'

i set down the letter thoughtfully on the counter, running a hand through my hair, closing my eyes.

what was i going to do?

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entry 03;

dear diary,

all i have to do is tell him to stop, and the reminder of what he said would be over. our budding friendship will be over and i wont be hurting anymore.

but thats the thing, i guess. i will still yearn to touch the softness of his skin and capture the emerald in his eyes.

i can make him stop.

but maybe i dont want him to stop.