Drowning
the one that i remember as my lover
It wasn't something that happened overnight. It wasn't something that was supposed to happen. It wasn't something Harry expected. But it happened and it all happened for a reason.
Louis was changing, drastically, and no one could do anything about it but watch.
It wasn't a physical change, because those happened often to the both of them. Harry was still getting acne and struggling to grow hair on his upper lip, while Louis was matured and fully grown. But that wasn't the kind of change that happened. That was a change Harry could've handled.
Because a lot lately, Louis would distance himself. Instead of ever talking things over he would lock himself in the closet with those damn pictures and remember the past instead of letting them go into the future.
It was almost heartbreaking. What am I doing wrong? What changed? Am I different? Does he still love me, or does he love the old me?
The thoughts racing through Harry's mind were always too much to bare. He didn't want to accept the fact that Louis could be falling out of love with him.
He tried to put himself in Lou's shoes. So one day when he was gone, he locked himself in the closet and looked through the pictures.
By the time he was done, there were tears staining his cheeks and the polaroids in his hands. He missed the spark they used to feel when they so much as touched. He missed what they used to be.
But as he stumbled out, holding a now slightly crinkled photograph of Louis, he wondered. What changed? What's different?
The furstration and anger was getting to him. In a rage, he knocked over the dresser next to the bed. Not only did it break the lamp, that just so happened to be on and plugged in, it shattered the small bottle of cologne Louis had sitting there.
The flames erupted faster than Harry could process what was going on and in seconds he was panicking. He didn't know if he should call the police, or run, or what.
But he did nothing. He watched the bright orange dance for him, touching everything it possibly could. The curtains, the carpet, the closet.
Despite knowing the smart thing to do was make a final attempt at running, he sat down on the bed in the center of the room, that still went untouched. He laid down on his back and held the polaroid of his lover close to his chest. Sweat fell down his face but there were no tears. There was no regret haunting his mind.
Harry let his eyes close and tried his best to fall asleep. He urged his mind to take a small little... nap. The pain'll be over when I wake up. The hurt will be gone. Just like the memories.
Louis was changing, drastically, and no one could do anything about it but watch.
It wasn't a physical change, because those happened often to the both of them. Harry was still getting acne and struggling to grow hair on his upper lip, while Louis was matured and fully grown. But that wasn't the kind of change that happened. That was a change Harry could've handled.
Because a lot lately, Louis would distance himself. Instead of ever talking things over he would lock himself in the closet with those damn pictures and remember the past instead of letting them go into the future.
It was almost heartbreaking. What am I doing wrong? What changed? Am I different? Does he still love me, or does he love the old me?
The thoughts racing through Harry's mind were always too much to bare. He didn't want to accept the fact that Louis could be falling out of love with him.
He tried to put himself in Lou's shoes. So one day when he was gone, he locked himself in the closet and looked through the pictures.
By the time he was done, there were tears staining his cheeks and the polaroids in his hands. He missed the spark they used to feel when they so much as touched. He missed what they used to be.
But as he stumbled out, holding a now slightly crinkled photograph of Louis, he wondered. What changed? What's different?
The furstration and anger was getting to him. In a rage, he knocked over the dresser next to the bed. Not only did it break the lamp, that just so happened to be on and plugged in, it shattered the small bottle of cologne Louis had sitting there.
The flames erupted faster than Harry could process what was going on and in seconds he was panicking. He didn't know if he should call the police, or run, or what.
But he did nothing. He watched the bright orange dance for him, touching everything it possibly could. The curtains, the carpet, the closet.
Despite knowing the smart thing to do was make a final attempt at running, he sat down on the bed in the center of the room, that still went untouched. He laid down on his back and held the polaroid of his lover close to his chest. Sweat fell down his face but there were no tears. There was no regret haunting his mind.
Harry let his eyes close and tried his best to fall asleep. He urged his mind to take a small little... nap. The pain'll be over when I wake up. The hurt will be gone. Just like the memories.
I'm crying right now
1/3/14