The Isolated Artist Myth [H.S.]

one/one

"I think I'm seriously gonna do it. Think this time m'going completely off the grid. Reconnect with the earth and all that."

You turn your head away from the Turner Classics you'd spent all afternoon watching to stare at Harry, eyebrow raised in disbelief, a small smirk dancing on your lips in confused amusement. You don't believe a word he's saying, you can't. You know him, you know him too well it seems at times. You know that, yeah, he might go, enthralled with the idea and romanticism that comes with complete isolation.  Many before him had relied on it and many of them had gone absolutely mad because of it. 

 You're not quite sure which words to use so as to not seem discouraging, so you keep your mouth shut, turning back to the film on screen. Knowing he'll realize how utterly lonely, and ultimately boring it'll be and just come back.

So you're unperturbed (albeit not completely) when two weeks later, Harry is at your front door to say his goodbyes, hugging you tightly, a bag at both of his sides (stuff he's left at your place, as per his request). His face nuzzled in the crook of your neck. The smell of smoked sandalwood and wildflower honey drifts and settles in the little space between you, a seamless combination of both of your aromas. And although you're sure he'll be back soon, you're gonna miss this, miss him. It takes a lot for you to not ask him to just stay here but playful teasing comes easy when a slurry of I'm gonna miss ya's and endless promises to stay in touch were bubbling up from his stomach and spilling from his lips.

"You're going to realize how boring it is and you're going to come right back. I know it!" A soft chuckle leaves Harry's lips as he pulls away from the hug. A chill cocoons you in an instant. He shakes his head, letting lose a single curl that rests between his eyes. He combs it back in place with his hand as he sighs.

"Wish you had a bit more faith in me, love."

Now it's your turn to laugh, shaking your head until it dies down. You step forward, arms extended for another hug, Harry returns it happily, wrapping his arms in a bear like fashion around your waist. You turn your head slightly. His chocolate brown hair tickles the tip of your nose as you bring your lips flush with his ear. "Got an office pool going, got a fiver on you won't even last a week."

Harry scoffs and pushes you away softly as you laugh, a deep belly laugh. He joins in, his a beautiful accompanying harmony to your witch like cackle but it's one of his favourite things about you. He never lets you forget it.

You both attempt to catch your breath when his phone buzzes. He takes it out of his jacket pocket, looks at it briefly, then shove it back in place. When he looks back up at you, your eyes lock and you know it's time for him to go. He smiles and it's larger than life, the skin around the corners of his eyes crinkle as his dimples sink deeply into his cheeks. He brings you in for another brief hug before heading to the black SUV parked in the driveway. You lean against the door frame, arms crossed, watching as he loads the bags in the car. He opens the door, but pauses to wave at you before getting in.

"See you in a week," you yell, hands cupped around your mouth. He shakes his head and with a smile and a wink, he's gone.

You're completely surprised when a month passes and you haven't heard from Harry, and then another, and then another. Guess the mountains really don't have reception. You kick yourself for thinking he couldn't handle it, but he's obviously having a great time if he's still there, wherever there might be, and you're out five dollars and a best friend.

You're incredibly caught off guard because the year is nearing its end. It's around the time that the remaining threads of summer are coming undone, as the crisp winds of autumn are around the corner that you receive a postcard. The edges are soft, slightly weathered and a worn vintage illustration of the Rockies occupies the front. Harry's quick, off kilter hand writing filling the space on the back.

He loves it, he writes. "The air feels cleaner here somehow, fresher."

He's made friends with an elderly couple that lives a few miles down the secluded cabin he's rented for the year. Caroline and Bobby, he refers to them by name. They own a farm and would bring Harry some of their spoils on their way into town for the farmer's market on Sunday mornings which he would sometimes ride the old bike he found in the shed behind the cabin to when he was running low on supplies.

He writes about waking up with the sun, falling asleep with the moon and all the moments in between. "You'd love the amount of stars you can see here at night, it's incredible."

He's more than halfway done with the album, or so he says. "I'm getting there. The quiet really helps. Can hear my own voice, feel everything fully. S'nice."

It isn't until the end of the postcard, a postscript, that he tells you just how much he misses you despite everything he's said about loving the solitude. Tucked in the bottom right hand corner, small but still legible, obviously due to the fact that he hadn't gauged the word size to card size ratio before starting.

"I miss your laugh. It's funny, the coyotes out here sound a lot like you. Thought you'd come to drag me home the first night I heard 'em."

You roll your eyes but can't help the smile that creeps onto your lips as you come to the final words of his musings.

P.P.S

I really do miss you and although I love the peace and quiet, I wouldn't hate it if you came to visit.

All my love,
H x.

A/N: This is the first thing that I've written that I'm posting here and I'm so excited to start sharing my work!! I hope you all enjoy what I have to give!