| D I S C L A I M E R |
Before I begin I'd just like to enforce that the ideas behind this story are completely my own - ones that I've created over the last two years. Before you think about stealing ideas, just remember: I bite.
This story was first created in March, 2015 and I completed it in late 2016. However, the book has been completely rewritten, and as a result some of the comments aren't in line with the text.
If you're new here: Hi, thanks for clicking on my lil story, *hands you a bottomless bucket of popcorn, an endless supply of tissues and one very large muffin* hope you enjoy the show.
If you're not new here (you've already read the old book): I'm really sorry if you like this version less than the other one. I, personally, prefer it.
| M U S I C |
Attached at the top of each chapter will be the lyric video for a song that I either think will a) add further depth to the book or b) I listened to whilst writing it. If you're interested in discovering new music, or you just want to jam out whilst reading, it's always there for you :))
Okay, phew got all of that out of the way. Are you ready for the fun stuff now? Okay, here goes;
HANNAH
Shawn's Harry Potter books felt heavy in my arms.
I stacked them carefully in the cardboard box, struggling to compose myself as I sealed it with tape. Drawing out a large breath, I moved to the other side of the room to rid the bookcase of its last row of books. What once was full of colourful and well-loved literature was now nothing but wood, dust, and the lingering pain of memories.
Surprisingly, it was the small things that hurt the most. Seeing his How To Play Guitar For Dummies books, my old recipe books, his lyric books and, God, his handwriting. At first, I gulped, knowing that smudged, slanted and slightly messy handwriting like the back of my own hand. I loved it, even more-so than the lyrics.
With the pages between my fingers I had first believed it was one of his lyric diaries; the books he took with him on tours, the books that never left his side in fear of sudden outbursts of creativity. I almost packed it, until my thumb skimmed a page, and my eyes caught my name. My name scribbled in faded blue ink.
The lump returned in my throat and I found myself gulping again. Suddenly I didn't want to look at it. I would, eventually. Of-course I would; just not then. I closed it, because the pain that it brought sent a shiver of heartache down my spine.
There were four of them.
I dusted the cover of the book plagued with my name lightly, before placing it on his empty desk, doing the same to the other three.
Part of me wanted them to be nothing. To mean absolutely nothing. Maybe then I'd get over it all.
Turning back toward the pile of boxes, I tried distracted myself with packing his things. I'd read them another time; a day when I'd be able to face the truth.
The truth that he's actually gone.
- A/N -
Here it is! After a whole year of me re-writing this book, I'm finally back to publish it! I hope you all like it, and I'm sorry to all those who were halfway through reading the old one :)
- N -