New York State of Mind | zm au

Lost in my Head

Tomorrow is Christmas. And I'm alone. At least Zayn's got his family back home, I wonder how his father is.

My guitar still sits on the chair where I left it. I haven't dared touch it, scared it would bring back memories that I've hidden quite well in my mind.

Snowflakes swirl outside in a made flurry. I can hardly see down to the street.

Turning away from the widow, I'm reminded of my parents by looking at the broken guitar and stretched strings. Numbly, I walk over to it like Aurora might walk towards the spinning wheel on her 16th birthday. In a trance, I peel off various stickers and pieces of tape. Most importantly, I pull out the picture I kept hidden inside.

Three people stand in front of a big White House in this picture. A little girl with brown hair and grey eyes, a man with blonde hair, and a lovely woman with short brown hair and a warm smile.

I walk I to the kitchen and use some of the tape I peeled off my guitar to plaster the picture of my family to the fridge. Reminiscing, I forget about my loneliness.

I later pick up the ruined instrument and shove it under my bed. I wouldn't throw it away if it was a pile of splinters.

That brings me back to Zayn. Thinking now, I know we were just messing around and he never intended it to happen. If anything, I should be to blame. I never should've left my guitar out where it could so easily be damaged.

I want him desperately to come back, but I know when someone is sick you better stay by their side until something happens. Good or bad. You can't risk not being able to say your goodbyes.

I never got to say mine, and I'm haunted everyday by it.

9/10