Chapter 3.

I tucked my hair behind my ears as I sat on a bench in the middle of the city. My laptop on lap, and a notebook sitting next to me. It was empty of course. The doc on my laptop was close to empty as well, still sitting still with the same line. "If I could buy feelings, this is the one I'd desire." The only thing that accompanied it now was the line I managed to write alongside.

"For the light at the end of the hallway is lonely and needs as much fulfillment as I crave."

I closed my laptop and put it back in my backpack as it started to rain very lightly. The clouds ahead of me were a mix of white and dark gray, the contrast creating an effortlessly beautiful sight. It started to pour very quickly, but I didn't bother to do anything but stand up. So I stood, there, in the rain.

Each drop kissed my skin and I let them, opening up my arms to embrace it. If the world only breathes into those ready to live, how am I so blessed as to have so many moments to convince me that living is all I could ever want to do?

I visualized a cinematic shot, circling around me as I learned to feel alive again, perhaps for the first time. A song played in my head, but no music was present. A simple feeling was enough for me right then. It also occurred to me that feeling pain was a part of being alive.

"Darby? Is that you, Darby?" I heard a voice yelling at me from a distance. I turned with a smile dancing on my lips, not yet seeing who it was. My hair stuck to my face. Of course it was Harry, and he stood across the plaza with a hand over his eyes, trying to see me. "Hi, Harry!" I yelled back. I guestered for him to come join me.

He laughed and drooped his head down. He knew he had no choice but to succumb.

"God, you're going to get sick." He said to me. "Yeah, I could. Or I couldn't. Either way I still would have this experience. How can you be worried about consequences when the rain is here to cleanse you of them."

"I love that, actually." He dropped his shoulders, and I watched him give way to the pattering redemption.

"You're always welcome to have bits and pieces of my thoughts." I scrunched my nose up, walking a couple feet away.

"It'd be an honor." He grinned, a little louder to reach me. The rain fell down his face like tears, coating every inch, and his eyes crinkled up ever so tightly to prevent rain from getting in them. I lifted up my head, faced the sky as the droplets graced by face. I could feel his eyes on me, and they were soft and full with wonder.

I sat in the front of his car, completely soaked. It was silent for a moment, until I cast my eyes towards him and we collectively burst into a fit of laughter.

He stayed parked on the side of that road with the sounds of the rain kept on. "What is your favorite movie, Harry? I forgot to ask earlier." I said, messing with my hair around my finger.

"I've always loved The Notebook, honestly." I looked at him, in shock. "The Notebook?" "The Notebook." He nodded with surety. I shied away with a smile. I had quite the list of my favorite films. It ranged from a couple of indie films to huge, high-end productions. But I had my answer. And it was very clear to me just what it was.

"My favorite movie is La La Land. Second is Little Women, and third is Inception. Another called "The Boy Downstairs" that is independent. I'm thoroughly in love with that one." I spoke softly, and pulled my knees up to my chest. "All wonderful. Though I haven't seen the last."

"I mean, if you think about it," I started up, sitting up in my seat and turning my whole body towards him. "Well, I'm a writer. And I write what I feel. But I only write it. Films are so satisfying because they portray a feeling in a thousand different ways a once, ya know? There's shots and music and acting and audio and editing and lighting and colors and all of these things that all evelop this portrayed emotion I mean-- as a writer I can't really do that."

"I think you can do that." He said, catching me slightly off my guard. "In films, there isn't much left for the watcher to imagine, ...it's just layed out in front of them. Erm, and though they do have to think, they don't have to visualize. Writers have control over the reader's imagination, at least to a certain extent. Imagination is subjectively much more powerful than sight."

It surprised me and didn't all at the same time. I knew his brain was oddly sophisticated, yes, but he didn't seem to share a lot.

"You're very intricate." I said, leaning my head on my hand as I looked out the window. "Intricate is not a very common compliment." He gushed.

"It's true. I know it already," I pulled out my phone to shuffle my playlist again. "Hey it's my turn." He smiled, taking the aux cord from me. I laughed and let him, wondering what he'd play. The rain had slowed down and Harry put the car into drive after starting a song I didn't recognize.

From The Dining Table. Its sounded like him. His own song. Wow. "Okay so now you're here to flex your own music." I laughed at him. Harry chucked too, "I haven't released it yet."

I listened to the lyrics.

Comfortable silence is so overrated, Why won't you ever be the first one to break?

Maybe one day you'll call me and tell me that you're sorry too. But you, you never do. Do you? More of what was once mine... I closed my eyes.

The guitar was breathtakingly simple. It comfortably held the melody in its hands, letting Harry's soft voice breathe raw emotion. It was full of questions and uncertainties but a sickening knowledge of never returning to something he used to have. It was bittersweet, whilst not yet being able to find what was so sweet about being alone.

"It's not finished yet." He defended. I was still a little in shock, "No I think it's... glorious. That's a reality that you just created, a real emotion that you captured purely, I can't-- I can barely explain it aloud, Harry. It's entrancing. "

(again, ignore the words, so sorry :))

"You have a serious and almost scary way with words." Harry drove slowly through the streets. It was completely dark outside now, and the clouds had parted ways to make room for a couple stars.

"The stars! Look!" Harry pointed out the front window. I could tell he was tired. His voice was getting lower and raspier, but his child-like love for the stars gave him an added innocence. He left his left hand on the wheel and nudged me with his right to get me to look.

"Harry, I know it's been freeing to pretend, but I feel I must ask." I nodded, as if it'd help me to muster up the courage I needed before starting a conversation. He nodded quickly and held his head up towards me.

"What are you looking for here? Why are you doing this? I have so many questions but I get you're not the type to answer them." I didn't want to overstep his boundaries, so I kept my questions short. I noticed my hand starting to shake. I tried stretching them out and popping my knuckles, also digging my fingers into the palms of my hands.

Harry rubbed a hand on his face, processing before he spoke. He was always very deliberate with his words. I admired that, and assumed it was a learned skill when it came to being famous. It seemed to calm me slightly, but my heart still felt dragged.

"I'd like to know the same about you," he pressed his lips together, nearly smiling. I shook my head, allowing my eyes to avert. He continued, eyes on the road. "I don't know why I'm here yet. I guess I just expect to find out? I'm working on an album but things are slow right now." He gestured towards me. "If by this, you mean this, then I don't know the answer to that yet either." He smiled softly in my direction, and I gave one in return. We arrived at my house, I got out of the car and thanked him. The second I left I felt myself stiffening.

I went inside as quickly as possible. Though I hadn't been feeling as anxious recently, I felt it nearing. As everything started getting darker and darker, I closed my eyes and tried to sleep it away. I swallowed my thoughts of- of a lot of things. People.

Nothing at all had bothered me, I felt the same as Harry when it came to our friendship, it wasn't that. I'd struggled with it all my life, even as a kid I'd have episodes without knowing how to handle them yet. My body just reacts to life in a different way, it doesn't understand when it is in actual danger versus a realistically harmless situation. That's the simple way of explaining to people. It's not just worrying. It's not just getting nervous. It's a constant cycle that I'm expected to manage. I was doing a good job of it, but I was terrified that I'd fall again.

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