Ch.11

Dear Harry, 

Things have not been good. I woke up this morning, my arms reaching out, looking for you. It has been so incredibly hard no waking up with you snuggled up against me. I sat up and stared at the empty space next to me, wishing that it was occupied you. If only I had known that it would be like this, I wouldn't have taken those mornings for granted. The mornings where I'd open my eyes, and see your green ones staring right back at me, just an inch or two away. The mornings where I'd reach out and gently twirl my fingers through your messy curls- a pastime that both of us seemed to enjoy more than we should. The mornings where you wouldn't let me get out of bed until we shared our dreams with each other- and maybe a few kisses too. 

This morning was particularly difficult because as I got off the mattress, trying to recover from my Harry Withdrawal, my eyes landed on your guitar in the corner of the room. My body suddenly became weak, a horrible pain striking my insides. I had never gone this long without hearing your wonderful music.

It all started on your eighteenth birthday, during the summer before our senior year of high school. I remember how I had wanted to see you first thing in the morning, so I quickly got dressed and ran over to your house. I walked straight in, expecting to see you at the kitchen table, inhaling a stack of chocolate chip pancakes- something you always did on your birthday. Instead of finding you, I walked into your mother, who was still setting up your breakfast meal. After giving me a kiss on the cheek, she pointed to the stairs. 

"He just woke up," she informed me before turning around and flipping another pancake.

I excitedly ran up the stairs, gradually slowing to a tip-toe the closer I got to your room. Just as I was going to walk into your bedroom, I heard you in the bathroom. I quietly skittered against the door, curious as to what your were saying. Upon listening more closely, I realized that you were in the shower. I also realized that you were singing.

When I say singing, I don't mean your typical 'shower singing'. In fact, it was anything but. What I heard was a full on private concert. In all honesty, I wondered if it was a radio that I was hearing. In all of our years together, not once had you mentioned that you sang like a complete professional, and I began to wonder why. If someone has talent like that, they shouldn't let it go to waste.

As soon as I heard the water turn off, I quickly ran into your room, taking a seat on your bed. Seconds later, you came in, wearing nothing but a towel loosely draped around your hips. Surprise filled your expression when you saw me sitting there, but you soon recovered, a smile returning to your lips. After wishing you a happy birthday- and getting a nice look at your uncovered abdomen- I gazed at you with suspicion.

"What?" you chuckled while swiftly pulling on some sweatpants.

I stared you down for another second before saying, "When were you going to tell me that you sing?"

The smirk was wiped off your face, your lips tweaking downwards. "You were listening to me in the shower?"

I got off the bed and picked up your wet towel and threw it in your hamper. "Yes, and you are incredible, Harry! Why have you never told me?"

You now looked downright embarrassed. "I mean... it's nothing serious, I just like to sing in the shower."

My arms crossed across my chest as I began to lecture you that you had real talent, and I expected to hear it more often. You finally gave in to my pleads, and rehearsed one of my favorite songs ever- "Your song" by the one and only Elton John.

To this day, I can still remember how your beautifully gravelly voice finished up the last line, "How wonderful life is while you're in the world." It was my favorite song because I could relate to it- my life is so incredible because you're in it.

When I heard you sing, I would get goose bumps all over my arms, and butterflies erupting in my stomach. The way you sang made me feel as if the world had stopped, and it was just the two of us. There was just something about your voice- the huskiness, or the raw emotion you put into your words- that I couldn't get enough of. The moment I heard you sing, I became addicted.

A few months later, I had saved up enough money to buy you a really nice guitar. You had no idea how to play, but I had faith in you. Lo and behold, three weeks later you were practically a professional. You were always like this, even when we were growing up- when you put your mind to something, you would succeed. 

After contemplating for a few minutes, I finally decided to walk over to your guitar where it was collecting dust in it's stand. My fingers lightly plucked the strands, attempting to create the beautiful sound that your fingers did so effortlessly. Instead, all that I heard was an untuned note that sent an unpleasant shiver up my spine. As carefully as I could, I took the instrument off the stand, and sat down on the bed with it in my lap. Now that I was properly holding it, I tried to reenact the few cords you taught me way back when. Once again, the only noise I had made was embarrassingly bad. 

I pushed the guitar off my lap and curled up in a ball, wishing that there was some way I could hear your voice. I knew I couldn't call you; I didn't even have the pay-phone's number. All I could do was lay in my own misery, hoping that this was all a bad dream, that I would wake up with you in my arms. Unfortunately, that time never came. I searched my brain, ruffling through my memories, trying to find a solution to my problem. My mind was blank, along with everything else.

Everything is so empty without you Harry, I feel as though I am in an eternal world of nothing- I am surrounded by nothing except for my loneliness and pain. I wish you were here to kiss away all of the grief and anguish, like you had done since day one. Each day is getting harder and harder for me to function. I don't know how to survive in this endless pit of void. I wish there was some way out, and in the back of my mind I know that time is they key, but the ache won't surrender. The next time I get to see you is slowly getting closer and closer, and that is the only thing that helps me get by. 

Why do they say that absence makes the heart grow fonder, when all this absence is doing is making my heart break into a million little pieces? Why do I feel like this, Harry? Is it because I love you so much? 

I'm sorry I feel this way, I really do. I can't wait to see you and hear your voice and the beautiful music you somehow erect from this drab, cold earth. You are the reason that the sun shines and the flowers grow. You are the key to all life, and I am only realizing this in your vacancy.

Good night Harry, I'll see you in my dreams.

With so much love,

Ella Wella

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**What'd ya think? I'd love some feedback! Also, Harry is not going to be in One Direction in this story, but I decided to add some musical aspect because that's who he is in real life.

Read my FINISHED stories, "The Step-Brother" "The Teacher" and "The Boy That Saved My Life"

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