Innocence.

His lips burnt like cigarettes against my skin. As I traced the outline of his lips with mine, Hary's eyelashes fluttered against my cheeks. His hair was a perfect mess, his smile; blinding. That's when I knew it was over.

He had me. I was totally and completely in love with him. But when he pulled away, it was a completely different story. I realized something I should have a long time ago. I fell in love with the morning. how he stumbles out of bed.

When he first wakes up; how his eyes groan with exhaustion. The way his hands grasped my hipbones as his lips stole the ending of my sentences. Everyday with Harry felt like a month of Sunday mornings with white bed sheets and lazy smiles.

That same morning, I fell in love with the coffee shop down the street, and the way you asked for two sugars, but you really meant three. The walk home from your house made me remember what Monday mornings felt like.

Somewhere in between, falling in love with our midnight conversations that were exhaled through others cigarettes and interrupted by coffee stains. And reading the love notes you had written on my flesh, I realized something critical.

I am in love with the prescence of your words and the feel of your existance, but I am not in love with him. I fell in love with the feeling of being wanted, I fell in love with the places we visited, the routine, and mostly I fell in love with being comfortable.

I was there because I wanted to be able to love Harry, but I can't force myself and I won't. I fell in love with Harry's eyes, his smile, and his hair. How his laugh was just as husky as his voice and his words that casme through his heart.

But I am not in love with Harry Styles, however, he is in love with me and I don't know what to do.