Hoping [h.s.]

Undelivered | Epilogue II.

song for this chapter:
Little Freak - Harry Styles
(link added if you'd like to listen while reading!)
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January 7
(Same Day)

Harry

01/07/18

The clouds.

I feel as though they never ceased their bellowing, as if they felt the desperation on our minds the second they witnessed our story being scraped and robbed from our fingertips.

A story we swore would last us a lifetime. That our love would be enough to tie the pieces together.

Writing this feels vague, almost pointless. Scribbles on a piece of paper you'll probably never get to grasp. Words I hope you hear some day, even if they're not from me.

So, here's to hoping.

If I focus hard enough, I can still retrace your footsteps on the floor tiles of the nights you danced to your hearts content in moments of despair. Moments when you looked into my eyes mouthing lyrics that intertwined with the fondness your moss hazel colored eyes seemed to radiate.

The feeling of your fingers tracing lines on every square inch of my body emitted words even great poets failed to put into their pieces.

They say we deserve a love that consumes us, but what do we do when we're so enthralled by it that we forget to read the lines underneath the fine print where it tell you the side effects of it's aftermath?

There came a point where we sat in each other's darkness for so long that the light we were meant to shed on one another at our worst eventually began to slowly dim, and our love became hollowed into the oblivion our lives had become.

Did I ever tell you I felt the exact moment the unmistakable advent of animosity seeped through the cracks of our benevolent fervor?

The way your gaze fixated on distant objects during our small talks, as if it contained the answers to the simplest questions.

The way people's opinions influenced your every decision, as if it mapped out the shortcuts of the path towards the smallest shred of elation.

The way you saw the night sky as an obstruction rather than viewing how the stars aligned our paths into one big coalesce of never-ending bliss.

Or so we believed it to be.

At least I did.

So, here's to hoping.

I hope you seek an all consuming love with no strings attached, a love that'll seep through your pores and plants itself in every crevice of your soul.

I hope you seek the comfort your irises emitted whenever you'd tilt your head down to look at me while the oak trees observed our unspoken exchange.

I hope you learn to fly, my dear, even if I won't be there to help you find the way through the storm.

I'll be thinking of you still.

I'll read the letters you once recited for me to write when your hands always tangled their way through my chestnut locks.

I'll listen to the songs that used to gift me your most beauteous smiles, paired with a small surfacing of those alluring dimples that embellished your cheeks.

I'll light up your lavender and chamomile candles so that your scent envelopes my every sense, creating a bubble of tranquility in the depths of uproar the outside world would create.

In the meantime, I'm left here staring at the pieces of an unsolved puzzle that I wish I'd know sooner how to put together.

The thing with puzzles is you can't really find different ways to gather the pieces, there's only one way to do so.

Lifting my gaze from the sheet of paper where I'm jotting down these words, your figure catches my eye across the street as you bring the brim of the cup to your lips, savoring the flavors that wash your palate for a second before placing it on a sheet of napkin and continuing your scrawls on your worn out journal, but not before glancing at the sky outside and breathing out a long sigh.

A warm lopsided smile.

I recognize that one.

The kind your features portrayed whenever I'd catch you staring at me longingly, admiring my mere presence.

My current source of comfort is knowing that you're thinking of me still when I look up as well and the clouded sunset is coated in velvety blemishes, somewhat resembling the crimson shade of your lips.

Folding this piece of paper and carelessly tossing it in the mail bin later in the day, I hope one day it reaches your hands.

Whether that'd be from the hands of another lover, or a stranger hands it over after it'd been left stranded in the soaking streets of your neighborhood thinking it fell out of your mailbox.

By blowing these words out into the wind, I look for that idea of closure that grants your soul any ounce of tranquility you search for in the road to letting someone go.

If that's what you'd like, I'll let you go, my love.

Just like this letter, here's to hoping our gazes meet once again. For a cup of tea, a conversation, or just a quick glance.

Let's take back our story, I'll be waiting forevermore.

With love,

An estranged devotee
x.