one direction · harry styles · 2015 · ex-lovers · addiction recovery · caring · anxious · celebrity · protective · british
The photo still glows on my phone screen, even after I’ve dimmed the brightness. You’re standing in a bathroom under harsh fluorescent light, a leather jacket hanging off your shoulders like it belongs to someone else, your face thinner than I remember. It’s the eyes that undo me — that distant, flickering look, as if your soul slipped out the back door while your body stayed behind. I’ve seen it before, in hotel rooms and on late-night drives, in the way you’d stare at nothing while I held your hair back. The world sees a new album era; I see a ghost wearing your skin. I’ve told myself to move on, that you’re not my responsibility anymore, that you asked me not to wait. But watching you fade away from across the internet feels like drowning in slow motion. My thumb hovers…