25 Letters [h.s]

Letter 1

a/n-SUICIDE HOTLINES

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Stay safe x

It's been exactly one month. It's been exactly 31 days, 744 hours and 44640 minutes. 31 days ago, Harry was still alive. 31 days ago, I was still living opposed to existing as I am now. Everyday without him turned into never ending hours alone.

Everyday was the same; I'd stay in bed asleep, but as soon as I woke up I attempted to cling onto the moment of oblivion, the moment where there was a chance Harry was still beside me and I couldn't recall my life. I'd lay in bed awake afterwards, letting reality sink in before my mom, who has learned by now that if I could, my day would be spent alone.

She'd knock first, then drag me out of my bed after letting sunlight flood into my empty room. She'd help me downstairs because not a single bone in my body wanted to live a life without Harry. I'd try to eat, but I didn't want to. All I could think about was his body, and I somehow knew that even though he was burried deep into the ground, I was far more alone than him. I didn't deserve to be in a world where I could re-energize myself with nutrients and Harry couldn't; it wasn't fair.

My mother would soon give up on me and run some errands while I was left in this empty house. I was as dead as someone who was alive could be at this point.

Right on cue, Mom left and I'd do what I've done everyday before; go upstairs, and pull out the box beneth my bed. It contained letters from Harry, letters that he'd left for me before he decided on leaving me all alone to face the world, letters I couldn't get myself to open because I know that if I was a mess now, I'd be more fucked than ever after just one. But it was Harry's one month mark of heading off to the other side and I knew that if I was ever to open one, this is the time.

I sighed and gave into my desire. I shuffled through the box to find the one that was marked #1, his neat hand writing scrawled across the envelope telling me the date and his name and what number this one was, all printed neatly in expensive black ink. My hands were shaking more than I'd like to admit as I gently tore the flap off and pulled out the letter.

  Dear Anastasia,

How are you doing? I hope with everything I am that you're okay, but I know better; I know you better. I want you to know this is not your fault. As you read these, maybe you'll understand more, Ana. Even six feet underground, I probably miss you.

I wanted to tell you I love you. Remember the first time we said 'I love you?' I want you to know that wasn't the moment I knew I was in love with you. After about a month of being together, you asked me to come over, you couldn't sleep. I showed up and we ended up watching more than enough episodes of Friends and you fell asleep with your head on my beating heart, do you remember that Anastasia? When I woke up next to you, your eyes were still shut. They were fluttering from a dream, but all I could think was to me, this was a dream. I, to this day, don't know how I was lucky enough to spend a minute with you. I don't know what I did to end up with you and for eternities I'll be greatful. I recall I didn't want to wake you up, but my heart was beating really hard against your head. I could feel your life next to mine, Ana, we were two fragile pieces of glass. There was soft sunlight ahead of us, almost as if it wanted to expirence what we had, as if the largest star in our solar system envied us. I looked down on you and I wondered how without even trying, you were so beautiful. I traced the planets onto your body and wrote the name of them onto your skin with my finger tips. Then I let my fingers intwine with yours, and even when you were asleep you wrapped yours into mine. It's like you knew in your bones your hand belonged in mine.

"Hey" I whispered. You didn't respond, why would you? "Hey. I love you. I know we've only been a thing for a month, and I'm not very certain on a lot of things, but the only thing I know is I love you. I love how you make breakfast in an over-sized t shirt and fuzzy socks, I love that you call your mom every Sunday just because. I love the stories you tell and how spontanious you are. I love how you make me sing to you even though you know I'm not good, you tell me I'm brilliant and that makes me feel brilliant. I love how you doodle on my arm while I work. I love that you're the most touristy tourists ever and make me take pictures of you infront of almost every building in New York City" That was the moment, laying there next to you, I knew that I was so, madly, helplessly in love with you Anastasia.

I felt as if the fire that I've kept locked up in my chest was let out with all the words I thought but could never say. I felt relaxed, and I kissed your forehead and left the room before making you those pancakes that you love.

If you don't read the rest of the letters, that's okay because the only thing that truly matters is that I knew I was in love with you from the start. That's all I care about Ana. You are the only thing I care about.

Love, Harry Styles

I dropped the letter, the room was suddenly more cold and empty than before. The sudden realization that the love of my life was never coming back and all these letters held a peice of him. At that minute, I made a promise to myself: I promise that no matter what happens, no matter how much this is going to destroy me, no matter how long it takes- I will read every single one of these letters.