The next thing I knew, he was in my bed every night and my hands were always in his hair and his hands were always on my hips and my legs were always tangled with his and he always kissed my nose and I always cuddled into his neck. He never left me anymore because we were engaged. He never left me because now the only piece of jewelry I've ever worn tied him to me and he couldn't stop holding my hand and feeling it against the inside of his fingers.
And whenever it was late at night and he forgot to come home with me, I would walk to his apartment and knock on the door with tears in my eyes. He would ask me why I was leaking and I would tell him that I got scared he wasn't real. He would take me into his arms and pet my hair while I inhaled as much of his scent as I could to make sure he was really there.
Every day, it was a little bit harder to remind myself this wasn't real. It became more difficult every time he kissed me and rubbed my back and bit my neck and played with my hair and wiped my tears for me to remind myself that I was dreaming.
Every time we sat down to make wedding plans and saw our faces on the front of tabloids and heard a congratulations from passerby and talked about our honeymoon, I found my throat dry and my eyes wet and my voice high because I couldn't believe what I was capable of creating in my mind.
And then, when I was writing my vows the day after I picked out my dream wedding gown, it became harder than ever for me to think of how to get my overflowing thoughts together, and so I just told the truth.
And then the night before the wedding, when I wasn't supposed to be seeing him and he wasn't supposed to be seeing me, we were sitting together, cuddled in a ball, eating Cheez-Its straight out of the box and talking about what we were going to do after our honeymoon because we didn't have a house, and his band was about to come back together after five years, and I was still going through college. Then, we decided that it didn't matter because we still had jobs and cars and apartments, but then he asked me why we didn't live together.
The next thing I knew, I was bringing all of my books and journals and mugs and forks and spoons and ramen noodles and pillows and blankets and toothpaste and curling irons and tee shirts to his flat. After that, we flopped backward onto our bed and looked up at the ceiling with smiles on our faces because it felt like everything was right in the world, but I knew it wasn't the world, but my imagination.
We woke up as Lana busted through his door, grabbing me from him and pulling me out the door and into her car, but not before I heard his lovely laugh as he sat up and rubbed his eyes. She took me to her house and dolled me up, putting on makeup, fixing my hair, getting me in my gown, helping me into my heels, and pretty much directing the whole wedding.
And the most terrifying thing about the whole day was that when I was walking down the aisle and he had gotten a haircut and his hands started to shake and I could see a tear slip down his cheek, I forgot to remind myself that it wasn't real.
When he grabbed my hand and slipped my ring on my finger and said, "I do," and kissed me, his bride, I couldn't think about anything except that I was his and he was mine. I couldn't think about anything except that I just married Harry Styles and he was smiling at me and no other girl. I couldn't think about anything except that he loved me and I loved him and that we were in love. I couldn't think about how unreal this was because I didn't want to.
p.s. do you think it's real or not real?
