seraphic [h.s]

chapter fifty seven.

Mae.
-

This moment, and the moments leading up to this one, were the perfect example of not knowing what each day could bring.

I hadn't planned to tell Harry that I was in love with him. I hadn't even told it to myself yet. But that was the thing, it took a mundane task and a split second for me to know it. Once I knew it, it was all I knew.

I could have let it set me back. I could have withheld it and made him sweat it a bit more once I'd realised the feeling I'd felt was love. And I may have freaked out at the fact that I'd blurted it so suddenly on a random early morning. Though it were as if my body were already conditioned.

I loved him before I even knew it. As if my body knew before I did, like it was being patient and waiting for my mind to catch up at its own pace.

It didn't take some huge grand gesture. Or some pivotal moment that made the earth stop. It never would have taken that.

It took breakfast with him. It took him making me laugh. It took him making me feel like I didn't have to be anybody different. It was the stillness of the morning, his presence simply with mine, and the small quiet gestures, that made up my love.

And I knew that just because I loved him, and he loved me, didn't mean that we would stop trying to get to where we were headed. It didn't mean that all was forgotten. It meant something much more meaningful than anything from the past ever could have.

So, as I peered at him from over my shoulder, looking at his awe-struck face and how his lips wouldn't quite close, I knew something else to be true. Something quite wonderful. Something not made for me, but given to me anyway.

I had found love in him twice, as if he had been two people in one lifetime and I had gotten the privilege to know them both. To grow love for them. Two versions of myself, and two versions of him, still meant to be together for their most important phases of life.

In knowing that, in having time to think about it, it was starting to make even more sense. So much so, that I wondered how I hadn't seen or realised it sooner.

Because it was quite simple really— that I loved him.

It just made sense. As if it were written in every action of his. I could see it now. Like something finally clicking after so long of not understanding it. As if my heart were thinking, 'Ohhhh. Oh yes! Yes, she does love him! Gosh, I'm not sure how I missed that before!'.

Harry's eyes were distracted, trying to meet mine though losing battle every time he let them fall. I let him wander the art on my back, the swirls that were once scrawled down into a notebook and kept away because of how confusing they were. To me, they were once confusing to me.

When my thoughts and feelings had no place to vacate to, they would go down in paper, though I never understood the meaning behind them. I just knew they came from some part of me, it helped to get them down.

With time, as many things did, I slowly understood them. Maybe not to their full extent, but I knew that even though they might just be drawings, they were once the very feelings I'd had hauled up inside of me. They were a cry of the emotions I'd once felt, scrawled into something as physical as they could get.

Not everybody had to understand them. Most people wouldn't. I was aware of that. But it was my body, and I understood them, and that was all that mattered to me really.