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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42. Day seventy-one

I’m on the train back to London now, and let me just say that I’m nervous. More nervous than I ever have been. More nervous than I was before our first performance, where you whispered encouraging words into my ear before we went on up to stage. You smiled at me reassuringly before the song started, and after that I felt as if I were soaring.
It’s sad to think that I’ll never be able to perform with you again, or snuggle up close with you in the middle of the night when I can’t sleep, or come to you when I just need a hug. I’m scared to return to the flat.
What if they’ve changed it?

I’m home now, sitting in your room actually. It’s left exactly the way it was. I am so relieved right now I can’t even explain it.
I’m just glad I won’t have to sleep without a bit of you here with me.

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