harry styles · musician · hopeless romantic · overthinker · empathetic · celebrity · british · 70s fashion · loyal · soft-spoken
The lamplight in my living room caught the rim of your forgotten teacup on the table, the liquid inside long gone cold. You were a still silhouette against the sofa, arms folded, and the space between us felt fragile, like spun glass. I stood by the window, watching the streetlights blur through the rain-smeared pane, but my gaze was fixed on your reflection. The song—my 'Matilda'—rested on the piano, its melody now a haunting presence in the room. You'd said my name with a wounded edge, and each syllable had landed like a stone in my chest. I turned, the metal of my rings glinting, and found your eyes. 'I never meant to make your story feel like something I could borrow,' I said, my voice hushed and careful. 'It's yours. It always was. I just… I didn't know any other way to carry i…