He loved her for many things. He loved Y/N for the way she smiles at children playing or seeing an old couple holding hands.
He loved the way her laugh was the medicine to all his worries and made him forget the terrible wonders that filled the world.
He loved when she played with his hair, as he laid his head on her bare chest. She just laid there mumbling poetry off her head. He’d listen to her but just laid there, watching the wind blow their curtains around.
Harry loved how she was always two steps ahead with everything; coming home knowing already he used up all the milk.
He loved how she just looked at him with admiration. He loved how perfect she was for him; a puzzle piece to his miserable life.
He loved her for every little thing she did, from beauty to personality.
He loved how she stook out her tongue as she painted a picture of anything that came to her mind.
He loved how he took that picture and got it tattooed on his arm.
He loved how she wouldn’t even know the negative things in the world they lived in. She would always speak of the positive. Harry was memorised by her life. She lived so carefree and had no worries on her mind.
He loved how she would dance in the meadow outside of his childhood home, and just danced to her own tune. She would smile and grab his hand, and they’d twirl in the buttercups. Until he went on one knee and asked small words that would make him complete…‘marry me, Y/N’.
Y/N wasn’t something Harry deserved. He was too bitter, too negative, too rude. And, every good thing comes to its end.
Harry hated how she walked out with mascara running down her face. He hated how this was the first thing that was negative in her life.
He hated seeing that ring that meant so much, thrown at him.
He hated seeing her look at him like all others, with pity in her gorgeous eyes as she spat three words he wished he never heard, ‘I hate you’.
He hated the ink that was on his arm, that reminds him constantly about what a dick he is.
He hated how every reason why they broke up was of him.
He hated seeing her on the streets, admiring the street art; never seeing it as a negative.
He hated seeing someone knowing her order at their coffee shop.
He hated seeing her gone without a worry of coming back.
He hated that he loved her till he’ll die.
He hated seeing her ten years later with her own family, that they dreamed of, in a house that they designed, being happy.
He hated that she was happy and he could never be.
He hated that she was a constant reminder of what he missed.
He hated that he still loves her.
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