Olivia (h.s)

forty two

O.

I sigh, knowing that there has been a lot of thoughts circulating Harry's mind the past few weeks. We've had a lot of exams, extensive labs for various classes, and it's been weighing on him. But I know there is one thing he's been troubled by and it's because of me. I knew it was bound to happen, but I know I need to be there for him as much as I can.

It's bothering me too that I can't spend time with him. Who knows how long I'll be gone? It's tearing me apart knowing that I'm leaving him in a little over a month, but we have this time together. He wants me to have this opportunity, as do I, but my heart is heavy knowing we'll be apart.

My journey to the house proved unsuccessful when Johnny told me Harry left a while ago, not telling anyone where he went. This time, I know he's not at him mom's house. He's at the field.

As I reach the field, my hand opens the gate and I walk into the stadium. My feet walk against the track as I spot Harry, sitting on the bleachers. His elbows rest on his knees, his head buried in his hands. I don't know how long he's been here, but I know I don't want him to be alone. He can't do this to himself; beat himself up for feeling this way. It's hard on both of us, but we have to stay positive. We're in a relationship and we have to support each other.

I sit down on the bleacher in front of him, looking up at him but not saying anything. All I do is lean in, resting my head on his. His hand comes to my cheek, brushing his thumb lightly against the skin.

"Please talk to me," I whisper, nearly begging him. He's so reserved, struggling to open up, but I know he can do it with me. We're so good at talking to each other.

Harry lifts his head and it breaks my heart to see his eyes, puffy from crying. My hands reach for his cheeks, holding onto him. I'm not at all bothered by his show of emotions; most men finding it weak to cry. But he's not even close to being weak; he's the strongest man I know.

He doesn't say anything, just closing his eyes as I hold his face. My head leans in, resting my forehead on his.

"I'm going to Stanford," he whispers, and I smile. I knew he was going to choose it; he's so incredibly smart.

"That's 2,940 miles away from New York," he says, and I lift my head to look into his eyes. It's the distance that's killing him. It is in my heart, as well, but I'm trying not to think so hard on it. We love each other; distance shouldn't be that bad. It'll be hard, but we can do it.

"And 19 hours to get to you in Ghana," he whispers, my finger tracing over his eyebrow. I look up at him in admiration, but I begin to feel my stomach turn. The statistics on the distances leave a bad taste in my mouth; I'm sure it is for him too.

"Harry, don't torture yourself like this," I whisper, my hands unable to leave his face.

"The thought of you being so far away is hard to wrap my mind around. I've spent months with you and I can't," he stops, fighting himself. He's trying to be strong and not worry about it, but it's only hurting him more.

"I can't think about leaving you," he whispers, my eyes fighting back tears.

"It's not like I'm going to stop loving you," I tell him, his head leaning down. "Harry, I don't want to think about the fact that I'll be away for so long. Or that contacting you and being able to talk to you with distance is going to be the worst thing to ever happen to me. All I want is to enjoy what we have right now, in this moment. You're all I want; all I have. I'm so in love with you."

I'm crying by the time I finish, saying what I've been denying myself to think about. The time change, lack of reception, lack of a good way to communicate, and the busy schedules we are both going to be facing the next few years.