Children who die are not really gone,
But go to a place that is something like home,
Where they sleep the deep sleep, as quiet as stone,
Until we can join them when our lives are done.
Children who die are not really dead,
But just like good children tucked into bed,
Wait the long wait while we go ahead
Till our tales are all told and our tears are all shed.
Children who die feel no pleasure or pain
In the place where they wait till they see us again,
And all of us dance in a world washed with rain
Where the sun shines so brightly no sorrows remain.
Nicholas Gordon
----
No matter how cheeky he was, on and off camera, Harry Styles was truly a child at heart. He was a walking paradox. He had an old soul.
I remember the day he told me he didn't think he would make it to twenty-five. I asked him what he meant by that, but he gave me no reply.
We were so close, in all senses of the word. So close to each other, so close to being free... Harry destroyed all of those options.
I don't want to make it seem like I'm angry with him, but I am so angry. I hate his guts. He should've been here. What a selfish bastard.
These harsh words can be applied towards me, too. I hate my guts. I should've been there. I'm a selfish bastard.
I've decided to write down my fondest memories of the boy and try to publish it. I need to get the truth out. It's what he wanted.
I hid how I felt for him for four years and just as I was getting the courage to say it out loud and tell the entire world of the beauty of true love and all that cheesy shit, Harry was gone.
I wanted him in all ways possible, but never like this.
YOU ARE READING
Love You Dead
RomanceLouis publishes a book of all of the memories that come to his mind when he thinks about Harry after Harry's passing. (RATED R FOR LANGUAGE, SEXUAL SCENES, AND MENTIONS OF DEATH)
