You’ll be leaving soon, so I sit at the desk and begin to write.
I write about your smile and your voice. I write the things I love about you, and even some things that drive me nuts. I write my feelings out, quick easy words and then I hide it. I wrap it in your favorite Tshirt and I smile to myself, satisfied at this clever plan.
You leave the next morning and I kiss you goodbye before you board and hope you decide to wear that shirt.
You’ll be gone a month this time, so I wait for you to say something about the letter. But you don’t. You come back and still say nothing, so I forget about it.
A few months later I leave to visit my mom for a week while you’re away. You help me pack like always, and we kiss goodbye and board our separate planes.
You call me every night and tell me you love me, and things are normal. I love you more and more every day and I can’t wait for you to come home, to come back to me. I arrive at the apartment two days before you were supposed to.
I unpack my things and I make some food, and as I go to eat it I suddenly decide the living room is where I want to be. And so I go to the couch and sit.
I notice a piece of paper that I don’t remember leaving there, so I pick it up thinking its yours, maybe a new song or something. Maybe directions since you’re horrible with them.
I’m right, as soon as I see it I know it’s yours. I can tell by your handwriting. It says my name at the top so I read it. It’s a letter, in reply to my letter from so long ago. It brought me to tears when I saw a ring. By the end of it, you tell me you love me and that you’ll marry me one day.
You write, "Don’t worry darling, I promise that I will be the one who puts that ring to you personally”. I stand up, and I call you. No answer, so I call again. Nothing. I keep calling and decide your phone is off, you’ll call me tomorrow.
I fall asleep in your shirt and I’m awoken by the sound of my phone ringing. I answer it hoping its you. It’s not.
They ruined my life, those people. They’re the ones who told me. Told me you were dead. You tried to come home early, to surprise me. Your plane crashed Niall, and I’m all alone now.
The boys visit, they make sure I’m well, especially Harry. He’s married now you know.
It’s been three years, and still it feels fresh every day. The boys, well they aren’t boys anymore. You would be 25 now darling, a year older then me. We’d be married now, like Harry and Carla and Lou and Eleanor. Like Liam and Danielle. The only ones left are me and Zayn and although we both swear we don’t want to get married, I can tell he’s lying. It’s not that I don’t want to be married, it’s that I don’t want to be married to anyone but you. Zayn just, Zayn is lost I think. Perrie ruined him, she really did. Of course, you weren’t here for that either.
There’s a lovely boy who works at the law firm down the street, he lives in the building and he’s always offering to take me out and i always refuse. Darling, how could I do that? I couldn’t give myself to anyone but you. He’s heard of you, of course, but he, like everyone else doesn’t understand. But you do, don’t you? I couldn’t be with anyone but you.
PS: I Love You. I’ll be seeing you up there.
