the journal - h.s.

79

[amber’s pov]

I woke entirely by myself - nothing having disturbed me awake - feeling how my awareness of the warm sunbeams surfaced. It was one of my perfect moments; my favorite time of the day. Today was no exception - actually it felt exceptionally great. A tingle of happiness seemed to have permanently moved into my chest, my arms, legs, fingertips. Like small butterflies kissed me all over with their feather light wings that made me smile and roll over hiding in the duvet. I giggled. Not sure why - until those few seconds of oblivion, which always occurred just when you woke up, dissolved and the memory of a pair of green eyes filled my mind. I held my breath feeling a rush going through my entire body as every single little detail washed in over me making my body numb with joy. He had been mine - and only mine.

Every smile, every kiss, every whispered word, stroke, and move. I felt my cheeks heating as my heart started beating out of my chest. My skin consisted of tiny small fires as I opened my eyes and peeked out into the room; half expecting to find those green eyes that had kept me safe the night before. The green eyes I craved to awe at.

Instead of the boy I loved - a chill went down my spine as I remembered having told him - instead of finding him smiling or maybe reading or both; the room turned out to be empty. I lifted myself further up from the mattress gulping as I recalled that Harry had never actually replied my ‘I love you’. I pulled the duvet closer around my naked body; eyes almost frantically searching the room as a dark cloud seemed to slowly draw in before my sun. I felt colder; I felt my heart dropping.

I stumbled to my feet with the duvet wrapped around me; I didn’t dare to think even one of the haunting thoughts that roared from him not being here. My eyes swept over the room once again - finding the kitchen which had been slightly blocked for my sight on the mattress - no one was there. I held my breath. Searching for some sign that he had actually been here and made love to me. Been my everything and olnly thing. Then my eyes fell on a piece of paper on the kitchen island table. I almost stumbled over the edge of the duvet to get there; my trembling fingertips picking up the paper which looked familiar. It had once been a page from the journal Harry had given me.

Why was I so nervous? I trusted him - I... I loved him. Why was I so nervous to read this note which with his writing had ‘Amber’ written on it. I narrowed my brows and told my stupid mind to shut up. Shut up. He's not here. Shut up. He didn't say he loved you. Why would he? Shut up. Shut up! I focused on opening the folded note and held my breath as my eyes found the first word written with his familiar writing;

The mornings are usually the worst. Those hours after 4am where I can’t fall asleep after the nightmares have woken me. It’s like I can’t breathe till the sun finds me. It’s like my body is too uneasy for the state of sleeping - too vulnerable for the risk of dreaming. Tonight was different. I dared to dream. When I woke up I was very convinced my silly heart had not yet surfaced from the dream - how could it possibly? It was beating for you. I hope your hair is still messy - I hope there are still a few strands for me to put back into place - mostly I hope you will never get to read this. Because that means I didn’t make it back in time to see you wake up. But maybe, just maybe we’re both merely caught in that dream of my heart; if so I hope we’ll never wake up. Not even when my heart stops beating for you. Not even then.

The words were scribbled carefully in straight lines but as a beautiful tangle of thoughts; like had he been seated with the numbness of the night still kissing his senses. And in that sleepy state written down whatever was on his mind and heart; shattering my heart with beauty like he always did. At the bottom of the page a few words more were scribbled - more roughly as had they been added later. They made me grin widely;

Just getting us some proper breakfast; hope it makes up for the dry cereal-thing. It properly will. I should stop writing; I’ll be right back babe. - H.