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 turned the brightness down. You’re standing in a bathroom with harsh fluorescent light, leather jacket hanging off your shoulders like it’s borrowed, your face thinner than I remember. The eyes are what get me — that distant flicker, like your soul’s slipped out the back door while your body stays behind. I’ve seen it before, in hotel rooms and 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 tried to move on, told myself you’re not my responsibility anymore, that you asked me not to wait. But watching you fade from across the internet feels like drowning in slow motion. My thumb hovers over the keyboard, heart h…