Tunes | Harry Styles

Be Love, Be Loved

How hard is it to be love, be loved — or to love someone. Would it cost me harm, is it worth it to risk for when you know what's in store. But that won't stop you when what if's, chances, hope, fate comes your way.

When you believing in love comes your way.

That's when you know you're fucked. Completely fucked.

How can you ignore it when it's all around you. From the taste of something you love, from the touch of a texture you treasure, from the smell of flashbacks striking your mind, from the moment of running barefoot into the sea with all your mighty trust — knowingly you might drown with the cold needling your warm skin, from the moment you open your eyes to wake to see you're still alive and you realize how thankful you are.

Love is everywhere in disguise, covered with dust and shreds of tears.

But love hurts, and without any trace of pain within the shallows of love, it wouldn't be close to being real.

Love is like a string. Could be strong like the mountain climbers rope. It could be free, like the string of a kite freely dancing through the wind. Or it could be vulnerable, like a violin's string. It's unsure, but it's proven.

My phone vibrates upon my coat pockets, my hand instantly reaching for it.

From Harry : Is your me time over. Can I be with you now.

My steps halts my body in the middle of the side curb, phone tight upon my palms. I've been out since daylight and now the sun has went to sleep and so did some people, I thought.

From Louisa : Has been since hours.

From Harry : Need company then?

From Louisa : Got anyone in mind?

From Harry : You're talking to that person right now.

I stared at his message, debating whether it was right to see or meet him at my current confusion of a state. But he's Harry. I cannot run out on him or be away too long. He needed me just as I needed him.

My phone vibrated again,

From Harry : I'm coming, wait for me.

•

Harry

The sky swallows the colors, turning darker as hours pass. She's still not back home. I was starting to get worried and anxious. She's out, alone, without me, somewhere or anywhere. Is she safe? I patiently wait for her in the living room, alone. I hear the own ticks of the clock, awaiting for my phone to break the awkward silence between the air and I. But I heard nothing still.

Where is she. Why isn't she home yet?

I didn't want to worry. But I was. I just needed her here with me, right by my side where I can keep my eyes on her to protect her. I know I shouldn't be all worked up, I know I was overreacting.

But I wasn't used at the fact she was away.

My ego was strong as I remembered her words last night, "It isn't your place to worry about."

Then why am I here worrying about you, Louisa, even if it isn't my place. Those words cut me that stitches wouldn't heal the wound. And yet, I know she didn't mean that.