I write to you because...

Might be the ending

(A/N

7th of July 2014,

I edited the ending of this today so that hopefully it makes more sense, anyways, if you havent already, enjoy!)

Chapter Nineteen<3

Silence echoed through out Harry's head. Nothing made sense to him; yet everything fell perfectly into place. The odd sense of loneliness wrapped his body in a heavy cloak, his broken heart weighing a tonne in his pained chest.

Tears smoothly ran down his face; spilling over his wide, bloodshot eyes as the brim could no longer prevent their escape. The salty water passed his reddened nose and met at his swollen pink lips, cascading over the edge and finally merging with the moisture already clinging to his clothes.

All he could think about, was Louis.

Louis, Louis, Louis.

The familiar jumper that he wore suddenly felt tighter and more ridged as his breathing became restricted. The smell of it was over powering and he fought to remove it, yanking the fabric off and launching it a few feet to the left.

As he slowly lost his grip with reality, lost his hope, his pride and dignity, he lost his mind and sole purpose.

Over the past few weeks, he'd been slowly losing himself, like a distant memory that wavered over time, the details fading.

Harry didn't exist. Not anymore.

He didn't feel.

He didn't think.

He didn't move.

He didn't hear.

He didn't see.

He didn't smell.

He didn't do, anything.

He breathed, of course, and he blinked, only occasionally. But what good is a vacant shell?

He cried, too.

But he didn't feel.

He didn't exist, he was no where.

How can somebody exist without belonging? Without having reason to be there?

Is there significance to that? To existing without a purpose?

How do you define 'existing'?

Must you feel?

Must you feel the deep burn of regret that scorches the very pit of your stomach, as it's flames lick their way up to your heart?

Must you think?

Must you think about the inevitable circumstance you are stood in? You can't move. You can't take a step back out of it. You're well and truly stuck. Your tired, worn feet melting to the Tarmac of reality.

Must you hear?

Must you endure the everlasting, shrill screams of anguish; both your own and the one you mourn for?

Must you see?

Must you smell?

Why?

Is there a reason to existing?

To living without a purpose known to you?

Yes.

Yes is the answer.

Love.

Love is the reason.

Harry Styles sat in the middle of the road, watching the tale of his life unfold before his very own eyes. Tears fell onto his lap and he let them.