Delilah | H.S

009

d e l i l a h

The sunlight peered through the curtains, casting light on to every portion of the room— revealing things that I had not taken notice of last night. The walls were painted with the darkest of blues, littered with photographs of anything and everything. Some were in black and white, others in colour but nonetheless, they were all beautiful.

My eyes caught a photograph of his mother. She was standing underneath an umbrella, her purple rain boots to match. She looked exactly like Harry in it— they had the same eyes and the same full lipped smile. There was another of his friends. They were all engaged in conversation, some with their head thrown back in laughter. There was also one of girl— she was beautiful. The deepest of brown eyes and widest of smiles.

But the one that brought me to a full stop was one of me. I was sitting in the living room of his house, my body submerged in blankets and pillows on the couch. I had popcorn in my hair and my lips were stained the brightest of pinks from the three cups of pink lemonade I had consumed that night, but yet Harry had managed to make me look beautiful. I had a widest of grin as I stared down at the television— it evidently being taken during one of our movie nights.

Harry never once expressed an interest in photography, but the raw talent that these photographs exhibited it was clear this was not just a hobby. Every photograph had a way of capturing an emotion— whether it was what the individual was feeling or what Harry felt while taking them.

My eyes caught sight of the three cameras he had on display. There were all unique in their own way, clearly showing that they all had their own purpose— something I, someone who lacked an artistic bone, was never quite understand.

Harry was constantly surprising me. When we first met, I thought he was just a boy that craved the attention of women. I thought that he was incapable of being one of the good ones. Very quickly, he changed my mind— he became someone that I trusted and could not see myself living without. I liked Harry, I really did, but I was okay to have him in my life anyway that I could get him.

"Good morning," a raspy voice spoke. Harry shifted in the bed, his brown curls sprawled out on the pillowcase. Once his eyes connected with mine, he began to smile. "Please tell me that I am not dreaming."

I rolled my eyes before placing a kiss on the top of his head. "You are not dreaming."

With that, I unraveled myself from the piles of blankets before heading in the direction of the on-suite bathroom— the sound of footsteps hot on my tail.

"I need a toothbrush." I spoke as I switched on the light, the room immediately illuminating. On the countertop sat newly packaged yellow toothbrush.

I looked up in the mirror to find Harry staring back at me. I gave him a closed lipped smile in response before turning on the faucet and placing my toothbrush underneath it. He placed his own to follow before applying toothpaste to the both of our toothbrushes. We brushed vigorously before rinsing our mouths and placing the toothbrushes into the holder.

I stared at myself in the mirror to find that my hair was in knots, strands falling out of the ponytail. I quickly released all of my hair before running my fingers through it. Before I had the chance to put it all back up, Harry took the ponytail out of my hands.

"You never wear your hair down," He said. He placed the band on to his wrist.

There was a reason for that— something that I had not realized I was intentionally doing until now. I never lasted with my hair down for more than five minutes before I had the undying urge to put it back up. My mother was the one that would brush my hair morning and night as I was never good at it— it always ended up as a frizzy mess when I did it. I never got any good at it, thus wearing it in a ponytail every chance I got. But as Harry stood in front of me, a look of awe in his eyes, I could not help my want to try and love it.