Torn (harry styles)

62- Blossom

My eyes grazed over the first page.

On it was two simple words.

Two words that spiked up my brain and made my heart skip a beat.

Harry Styles

They were written in old fashioned curly writing, intricate, thin lines.

The slight smudge on the end if the 's' suggests to me this was written in a fountain pen.

I turn the page over and there is a small message.

This page was also written in the careful, delicate font. The sentence is written in the middle of the page, the rest if the page was left blank.

The words read:

'Those who can give up essential liberty to obtain a little temporary safety deserve neither liberty nor safety.'

I hold my breath and my insides churn a little.

It's like a warning message, a classy, meaningful way of telling people not to read on.

Instead of just saying 'keep out' or 'private, don't read' he has provided a quote about the privacy of ones journal.

That's beautiful.

As much as my eyes ache to dive into his most personal thoughts, his quote has thrown me off guard completely.

I am giving up liberty to obtain temporary safety.

I'm up in Harry's room reading his journal just to put my mind at rest and make myself feel better, the quote may as well be completely about me.

Shutting out my conscience and all my self respect and common sense.

I turn the page.

The way in which these next words are written is still incredibly beautiful, although it seems more strained. Like the emotion behind them was frustrated, or sad.

'Gemma,

I sat cross legged beneath you, gazing up at your beauty and tranquility. The wind breathing a breeze of freshness into the aura around us. Today was a dark day for me, I sat beneath you in search for comfort, and peace of mind.

The first salty tear escaped my troubled eyes and I believe that you noticed.

For 'twas at this moment that you gave me one of your beautiful baby pink blossoms.

As I held it's soft delicate petals I felt your love and comfort more than ever before.

Thank you, H.'

These words sent my mind into a whirlpool of confusion and unknowing.

My mind writhed to know what these words meant, or why he said them.

Who was Gemma? Why was she giving Harry flowers? What was upsetting him? Why was he crying? What was dark about his day?

As my mind slowly unravelled into a maze of questions and confusion, I noticed something else on the page.

A small blossom.

The one from Harry's entry, the flower that Gemma gave him.

It's taped to the page by it's small thin stalk.

The once 'baby pink' petals, are now brown and crispy. Aged and brittle with time.

It sits just below the entry and I begin thinking about how much this small insignificant gesture of Gemma's could mean so much to Harry.