Dear Harry

You've been gone for two weeks now. I haven't been coping well. The boys have even sent me to a therapist to help me forget. But I can't forget. You're all I ever think about. Your luscious curls, the way you smile lights up a room, your green eyes that I love so much. You're impossible to forget. I don't want to forget.

Of course the boys are worried about me. I'm even worried about me. My therapist is worried as well, and that's why she has handed me this journal, so I can write down my innermost thoughts. I have to give it to her every week to read over, but I just feel so weird giving it to her. Most of my thoughts revolve around you, so I guess that's why she wants to read it over, to make sure I'm handling everything well.

But to be honest, I'm not, and yes I'm fairly aware she will read this. But the truth has got to come out sooner or later, yeah? She never specifically told me what to write, but just that I have to write. So I'm writing to you. Starting from day one.


40. Day fifty

After a short train ride home yesterday, and the unpacking of my things, I have finally settled into my old child-like bedroom. My mother hasn’t let me out of her sight, and I’m beginning to feel as suffocated as I was with the boys crowding my breathing space.
I love my mom, I really do, but I just need to be alone.
The girls are glad to have me back, and they woke me up this morning by piling on top of me and tickling me awake. It was the first time I had laughed in a while.
This might be good for me.

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