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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49. Day seventy-eight

I didn’t visit your grave yesterday because I was just too scared. I just now realized that I hadn’t visited you once since the funeral, and the guilt is eating away at me now more than ever.
I feel terrible. I feel completely, utterly terrible. I’ve been so selfish. I’ve always been so selfish. I’ve always thought about myself instead of you.
So now here I am, sitting before your grave with tears running down my face. The flowers are fresh, and there are dozens of them Haz. People love you. I brought a single rose; I sure hope it’s enough. I didn’t want to crowd the place, but seeing all of these different flowers makes mine look pathetic.
I gave it to you anyways. I set it right in front. I plan on staying here a while, so I have a couple blankets with me and a bottle of wine. Red. That’s always been your favorite. Right Harry?

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