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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23. Day thirty-one

I guess that up until now, I have had this thought in my mind that you were coming back, and that this was all one huge terrible nightmare I was having. I could wake up at any moment and you would be lying next to me, smiling like you did every morning.
But I’m starting to realize that you’re not going to come back.
Today I didn’t even know what to do with myself. I think the boys knew that I would want to be alone, so I wasn’t bothered with texts or phone calls, and nobody stopped by our flat to see if I was alright. I appreciated it, though it’s probably because they were mourning on their own as well.
I spent the entire day sitting in your favorite chair, staring blankly at the television as I drank the pain away. Three or maybe four beers max, and I was dropped on the floor and crying my eyes out. The pain of reality just sort of… hit me.

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