GOLDEN (harry styles)

les accords viennent lentement

(14/02/19)

HARRY'S P.O.V

I sit with my legs crossed by the window, staring into the blank, empty backyard of my house. I arrived yesterday after staying with Mum for a while back home in Holmes Chapel. The car ride was tedious to say the least.

I love London, don't get me wrong, but there's something about how emptiness in Holmes Chapel still has an aura of peace that makes me crave being alone. Whereas in London, that same emptiness eats you up. It's dangerous. Destructive, even.

My journal rests on the dusty windowsill, bits of fluff from my jumper sticking to the leather cover. The ink sketches have sunk into the material, disintegrating and leaving a purple stain around the lines.

I've had writers block for weeks now. It was like after I wrote that song on New Years, all the lyrics I held in the palm of my hand were sucked away viciously. It doesn't matter how many times I play useless chord patterns on my guitar, or plan out concept ideas or play other songs, I can't get past the looming barrier.

That's what I'm trying to do now, but to no surprise it isn't working. I've been sitting on the timber floor for two hours, pen in hand, frozen in motion. My guitar lies still beside my legs. A fly has landed on the wood, sniffing the paint. I brush it away, picking up the instrument with a sigh.

I don't know why I keep trying honestly.

My fingers play the same chords I've played for the last two weeks, still without any words. I love the sound. It sounds summery, and uplifting despite how I feel. I want to write something happy. I tilt my head, letting my voice hum anything that comes to mind.

"Walk in your rainbow paradise," I start, my voice cracking a bit. "Strawberry lipstick state of mind..."

Of course the song is about Nixie. She's the kind of girl who deserves to have every song in the world written about her.

A warm smile rises onto my face at the memory of how her lips tasted. They were so sugary sweet in all the best ways, never once giving me a toothache. I always craved their flavour, not caring that my lips would turn pink. I'd do anything to taste them again. She's addicting.

"I get so  lost inside your eyes... Would you believe it?" I chuckle lightly.

She would never accept a compliment. Never. Not once. Everytime I complimented her utter beauty, Nixie would shy away, her cheeks blushing crimson. Her arms would fold self consciously over her chest. It still makes me sad that she can't see her own beauty.

A sour taste pinches me suddenly. I wonder if Daniel makes her know her worth? I wonder if they have said the 'i love you's that were stolen from me?

"You don't have to say you love me, you don't have to say nothing, lately you've been on my mind..."

I strum harder, head bopping a bit to my melody. Nixie's always on my mind. I don't think I would care if she walked through the door, sat down and never said a word. Just having her breathing the same air would be enough.

A memory of our day in Paris drifts into my vision, bringing a loving warmth to my skin. Those few minutes in the rising escalator that seemed like hours to Nixie. The way her arms grabbed my desperately every time the machine paused, and the pure fear in her lilac eyes. I've given up calling them grey. She'll never be grey.

"Happy you're here now?" I murmur, letting my eyes travel up and down her frame.

The bright smile bursting across her sun kissed cheeks reveals the answer to me. I'm too busy admiring Nixie to hear her response, my lips gasping more for breath when she peers cautiously over the railing, stepping back immediately.