golden | A HARRY STYLES NOVEL

"As I Open My Eyes"

hi guys :)
before we begin, i want to say some things. first of all, i hope you love this with all of your heart.
second, anytime that there is a song title that is underlined, that means that you should listen to the song as you read! it plays a big part, i promise. i've included gifs and such to help you visualize throughout the entire story as well. i already love you, and i hope it shows through my writing :)
i envision darby 100% as lily james, and harry as...harry styles lol
i've been working on this for so long, and i finally decided to publish it. just so happens to be around the time that there are golden mv rumors AND it's set in italy. i guessss you can thank me for manifesting. oh and the movie he's working on with lily james. yea, i'm baffled too HA
this is completely my own work and ideas
bye! have fun! thank you! tpwk!

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Prologue.

Things don't typically play out as we desire them too. Though some times what happens is much lovelier, graciously granting us mercy from the vile details of life. We learn who we are with experience, people, places, lifetimes. With words we discover who we have the potential to become. And with stars and sunsets we discover what we love. That one is my favorite.

Chapter 1.

    The train was now going under the English Channel. It was heavenly. I didn't take the train to the mainland often. And I definitely didn't travel as much as I needed to.

    I set my pen down on my lap in the crease of my journal. I couldn't stop staring at the one line I had managed to write down. It didn't sit right with me for some absurd reason. "If I could buy feelings, this is the one I'd desire." Not often did I write something that I didn't feel, but this... It was like I was looking for something, I had no idea as to what I was feeling. I fiddled with the collection of rings on my fingers.

    There was a good chance it was fear. Possibly new found freedom. All that was certain to me was that it was not inspiration. And that was the only important thing to me. Moving to Florence was my dream for years on end, I was sure that no amount of fear would force me to turn back now.

    I am a writer. A poet? An author? I wouldn't yet describe myself as that, but I am a writer. I have been forever, so has everybody else on the earth. We all write, yes, but only few see the way a writer sees. Writers see the world in color, not only visually but emotional color, grabbing as many moments out of the air as they can and filling their pockets.

    I am a dreamer, or so I'd like to say. Daydream believer is what my mum raised me on. Though I wonder if I'm allowed to say such things about myself. If I'm honest however, the fact that I ended up here on this train right now on my way to Italy to live for the summer is enough proof that I am who I believe I am.

    I've lived alone with my mum for quite some time now, it was hard for me to leave her but it's only five months at most and I'll have a secure job at Anna's. Anna is one of my closest friends. She's nearly 67 now but she doesn't show it; she's known me for as long as I've lived. She's extremely close to my mum, but now lives carefree in Florence where she owns a pastry shop. I was just lucky enough that Anna offered me a job alongside her during my time in her beautiful city.

    The sun slid it's way through the train window, it was nearly 7 a.m., and the frost on the window was disappearing rapidly. The train pulled in almost an hour later, yet no other words had made their way permanently on my page. Only a couple of scratches and doodled flowers remained.