25 Letters [h.s]

Letter 4

There's a few things I couldn't figure out. I couldn't figure out why if Harry knew how it felt to have someone you love die, I couldn't figure out even if the answers were tattooed on my body, I couldn't figure out why he'd wish the same on me. I know it's selfish but with every letter there was an 'I love you' at the bottem. An 'I love you' that makes my heart sway, an 'I love you' that makes my knees weak, an 'I love you' that stops time and colors my black and white world.

I don't know why, maybe it's because I could feel Harry's honesty in the scratches of his black ink on paper. It made my heart swell and I didn't feel quite as alone as I do now.

It's five in the morning and I can confirm I've been laying on my bedroom floor since the full moon offered me whatever it could reflect from the sun on the other side. Street lamps and vacant rodes were beyond my window, and my god I was so alone. I rested my cheek against the cool glass, to feel the cold. To feel that I was alive, to feel that I was in fact Kayla, not the person I saw on the street earlier today. More to confirm, really, that I was me and everything that has ever happened to me is real, not some fucked up story I was watching. It was almost as if I was confirming was alive, because these days I wasn't sure.

I knew if Harry was here he'd tell me I was over thinking it. He would inform me that the bed was getting cold without my body rested on his and he quite frankly needs his rest and he sleeps a lot better with the knowledge that I was in his arms. Harry would make a dumb joke and then tell me everything would be okay in the morning, after coffee that is. Harry would kiss my forehead, insisting that it would calm my mind. So I'd focus on his soft pink lips that were never chapped pushed up against my forehead, I'd focus on his scent that smelled like home, I'd focus on his large hands holding my head and suddenly everything was a little better.

If I was still having trouble sleeping, he'd leave for a moment. I would watch him walk out of the room in the perfect blackness. I would be able to make out is naked torso that had tattoos drawn all over. Harry would return with his favorite guitar and strum his acoustic so softly, and he'd let his raspy voice join in. He'd sing whatever song I loved, or whatever song he loved or whatever song he wrote. It didn't matter to me, it mattered that it was Harry there, singing to me when I knew he was tired. My eyes would start getting droopy and I'd giggle running my finger tips along his strumming arm. I never ended a day without telling him I was so in love with him and he'd play until I couldn't make myself stay awake to watch Harry's aesthetic.

I needed Harry. He kept me sane, he was and always will be my better half. Even being dead, he's still ten times the person I am. He always saw the good in others and treated everyone with respect. He understood that we were all human and it doesn't matter what gender you are or what race or what religion, if the person next to him was a human, he treated them like one.

I could see the moon almost gone and the sun bringing a new day, but I wasn't tired. I trudged over to the box filled with letters, knowing from the minute this day started I'd somehow end up reading one of his letters.

My hands searched for the letter marked 'number 4' with Harry's name scrawled on the envelope as if I could forget who would spend time writing me 25 letters.

Dear Anastasia,

Hey Ana, hope you're doing well. I think I'm just going to get straight to the point, if you don't mind. I wanted to tell you more specifically about middle school and high school and college and just everything I talked about in the last letter, except more in depth, if that even makes sense. So this letter, I'm going to tell you about middle school.

Middle school was really weird because in elementary, everyone thought comics and superheroes were cool. Then somehow over the summer everyone forgot about princesses and superheroes and I didn't get the message. I didn't want to grow up. I wanted to love what I love even though others didn't.

Nobody liked an outcast. Nobody liked someone who liked something different than them. It was almost like a secret code that the whole world knew except me. I realize now all those kids picked on me because they wanted to openly love what and who they wanted, but didn't want to end up like me. Back then, I thought it was the end of the world.

Nothing was really serious, just the normal snide remark from people who thought better of themselves. I took those personally, which really ruined me. I'd receive the occasional black eye or bloody nose, nothing fatal.

The only thing that I could offer my pity towards was when some senior, who was inevitably on the top of the food chain, threw a ciggerette butt at me. He was gathered around outside in the cold air next to the swing set with a few of his friends with regretable hair cuts. I could still hear their howls of laughter as I panicked to get the growing fire off of my new hoodie. The more I struggled, the louder their howls became. I flung myself into the pile of built up snow, my whole body easing into the cold snow, exstinguishing the flames. Just as easily as I could relax, I tensed every muscle in my body. It was like slow motion, I propped my head up to find pointed fingers and turning of heads, to find people laughing harder than the group of seniors, it was like the whole school watching me make a fool out of myself. I was washed with a sensation of anger, if you could call it that because I also felt like I was going to burst into tears. In that moment I wished I had rather burned than save myself.

Could you imagine that, a little middle schooler, who was still so naive, could you imagine him wishing he was rather burned alive than to humiliate himself. I am obviously glad I did live a little longer, as if I were to die in the middle of a middle school playground, I would've never have met you. What a funny thought.

Anyways, I decided to walk home alone that day opposed to taking the bus. I felt like I needed to be isolated, so there I was walking home on the sidewalk with the occasional car that would stop and offer me a ride. After about a good ten minutes I was bored out of my mind and couldn't, for the love of god, figure out why this was a good idea. Thankfully, my mom's familiar old blue Toyota, pulled over. I only noticed it was my Mom's after she rolled down the window and said, "need a ride there kiddo?"

She didn't have to ask if I was upset, or if I was having a bad day. She could sense I was and took me out for ice cream.

I don't exactly know why I'm telling you this, maybe it's because nobody who knows me now, knew about that time. Those days were the ones that shaped me into the person I am today, and I want you to know me. I think making a mark on this world is kind of ridiculous. I don't understand why someone would want to be remembered, because nothing is permenent. If earth didn't get hit my a meteor millions and millions of years ago, this planet that holds every place I've ever been, every person I have ever met, every memory I've ever had wouldn't even exist. Nobody can avoid the inevitable, so one day earth will go back to being nothing. If the earth isn't even permenent, how can a legacy be forever? So I don't want my life to be remembered. But what you think of me as a person when I'm gone is very important to me, and I want nothing more than to leave my mark on you, Anastasia.

I love you and will love you forever, despite the fact 'forever' is such a flimsy concept.

Love,

Harry Styles

I let the paper fall out of my grip, the sun making its appearance. I crawled back onto my lonely bed, pulling a blanket over my head to block out a new old day. I prayed to have a few hours of sleep, and maybe if I were lucky, I wouldn't have a bad dream. I hummed to the tune of 'Georgia on my Mind,' hoping the sound would ease my tension, pretending my voice could move mountains and break rocks, the way Harry's did.