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.

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39. Day forty-nine

The train station is crowded and the noise keeps banging through my ears. People keep pushing me as Paul guides me along through the mass of people, while he tries to keep me out of the fans’ view at all times. I thank Paul for that, because I don’t want the fans to see me like this.
I’m wearing your old beanie, along with your old worn out sweats that you used to waltz around the flat in every morning. I’m tiny within the large sweatshirt that is engulfing my upper body, but I don’t care what I look like.
I’m leaving the flat—our flat. Our flat where we had made so many fond memories, ones that I’m beginning to forget with each passing day without you here with me. We could have made more, had you stayed longer.
And as I step onto the train, waving my final goodbyes to the city I have come to love, a single tear slips from my eye.

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