GOLDEN (harry styles)

pourquoi l'amour doit-il avoir peur?

(01/01/19)

NIXIE'S P.O.V

I've never felt more empty.

I sit on my unmade bed, knees up to my chest with my arms wrapped protectively around them. My head rests on my chin, too exhausted to hold it up any longer.

I've been sitting here for about two hours now, admiring every individual star in the illuminated sky. Every few seconds, a firework is set off, disrupting the peace with a burst of gold and purple sparkles. Not that I'm complaining, but I'd much rather watch the natural fireworks dance behind the invisible clouds.

It's 2019. That sounds crazy just saying it. What's even crazier is that this time last year, I was in this exact same position, adoring the milky way and wishing Harry was here with me. Yet, this time it is a different kind of missing someone.

I feel lovesick. I don't know if that's a word, but that's how I feel. I feel homesick, but my home isn't a place or a country, it's the love I found in the one person who let me be open to any extent. And I pushed him away...

My breathing hitches at the mere possibility that if I hadn't left, I could be buried under a cosy blanket laying on his shoulder while a fire burns a comfortable flame beside us. Goosebumps of imagined fear prickle at my arms, making me rub warmth into the skin.
It's like I can feel Harry's shadow here. It embraces me, softly but powerfully, his lips brushing against the skin of my neck as he whispers something sweet and inaudible. He places a gentle hand on my chin, turning my head to face him.

Yet when I do so, he isn't there. It's all a figure of my overactive imagination.
A quiet choking sob escapes my mouth, hanging on dearly to the back of my throat as it releases a few more until I'm crying silently into my hands, hair bedraggled on my shoulders. My chest shakes violently with every wail, trying desperately to stay quiet. The only solution is to grip my hands tightly until they turn the same shade of pure white as my bedsheets. Slowly, the dull pain takes away the feeling of drowning.

I jump suddenly as another firework sends a rainbow of red and orange across the midnight indigo, creating reflections that dance happily along my walls, bouncing off the windows onto my face. I'm sure that if Harry was here, his eyes would look impossibly blue. A sigh of doubt releases from my withheld breath.

I pull my hands back. The first thing I see is the light spattering of crimson blood drawn from my palms, staining the white linen around it a dim shade of pink. I shake my head back and forth, as if I'm trying to get rid of the reality that I'm in.

I don't want to be like this.

If Harry was here, he would kiss my cheek and tell me it will be alright. He would hum sweet melodies into my ear as my lungs struggled to take in oxygen with every breath, making them feel loved and safe. His yellow hoodie would feel more warm than it does now, clinging onto my love-struck body like clothes to wet skin.

Harry would slowly stroke patterns of various paintings he's seen over his years on the soft, needy skin of my hand, hitting all of the most comforting places. He has that special skill, one that not many have. The only other person I know that has that skill is Emilie.
She's currently downstairs, a few glasses of red in, dressed in a silver mini-dress that matches her sparkling shoes and curled hair.

But she isn't Harry.

I let my thoughts wonder to simpler times, my eyes closing in a dreaming daze, head tilting back with a reminiscing smile on my red lips.
The first image that comes into my mind is Harry's grin. His perfectly white, straight teeth, the front two being slightly longer than the rest. With each time his dimple carved itself into his smooth skin, I felt myself fall deeper in love with that smile. It could take lives if it wanted to.