So here I am today, Harry, — writing these dumb letters that you probably will never bother to even read.
But if you do read them, and are reading this right now, then you know I am not alive anymore.
It's not your fault, so don't blame yourself, — even though I doubt you will, after all this time.
I just wanted to tell you, Harry. Tell you, show you how much you hurt me, how much I loved you, and how much I will continue to love you, even in the afterlife, if there is one.
I hope you get it, Harry.
I hope you get that I never hated you, not even a little bit. Not even when you cheated, not even when you blocked my number, never.
So please keep in mind, Harry, that you were my first love, and after a few seconds, you will realise you were my last, too.
May you never find love again, — that is, if you ever even really loved me.
I love you, Harry,
From all of my, now dead, heart,
Your dearest,
Flower.
YOU ARE READING
Chapped | h.s. au
Short StoryIt was in that moment that Harry realized how stupid he'd been. It was when her now chapped lips stood there, lifeless. It hurt him, remembering her plump lips kissing his own, while she mumbled «I love you»'s, - that he now knew, he was never going...
