6. VI :: Dirty Little Secret
Dirty Little Secret
"I write songs," I breath out.
Harry smiled. "You do?"
I nodded. "Please don't ask if you can hear them 'cause I hate them all."
"How many have you written?" He asked, interested.
I sighed, "Hundreds."
He lifted his eyebrows.
"I started writing them when I was 10 because I felt lonely. It was after my brother died and I wrote a song for him."
His eyes filled with sadness, "I'm so sorry."
I nodded as a form of saying 'thank you.' "He was 14 and he committed suicide. I cried for days. He was my best friend and he was gone. I looked through his room to find something I could hold onto considering my mom decided to burn everything he owned and forget about the bad. I grabbed a sweatshirt of his, his childhood stuffed animal, and a journal I found with only one page written on. I read the page and saw it was a poem, a poem about his depression. I didn't understand much of the poem besides the fact that he was really sad. I loved that poem, so I ripped it out of the book and framed it. I wrote so many songs about him, until I got a boyfriend who loved me. He doesn't know about me ever having a brother or the songs, but he makes me feel happy. So my songs turned to happy songs, and I have this weird theory that my brother can see my songs, my musical poems."
Harry looked shocked as I started to cry uncontrollably. He quickly pulled me into his arms and hugged me as I sobbed into his apron.
"I miss him so much, Harry," I cried.
He ran his finger through my hair. "Shh, I know," He said softly while rubbing his hand on my back gently.