Lighthouse

From the get-go I knew this was hard to hold
Like a crash the whole thing spun out of control



When I was seven they asked me which season was my favourite in class. I did not want to answer so I told them that I didn't have many favourites because I usually got bored easily. They either didn't believe me or they thought the answer wasn't good enough. Apparently, everyone had to have favourites, because they asked me again. I was going to tell them about all those times where my favourite food was my most hated soon after, but I didn't. This time I answered "Rain," and the whole class laughed because rain does not classify as a season. I told them I didn't care for the specifics, because I just knew that I liked something about the rain, something that I would probably never get tired of.

I was wrong.

When I was fourteen, it rained the heaviest in summer. I was okay with it at first, but after the second week I was growing tired. By the end of summer, I had mentally added 'rain' onto my list of hateful things which were once favoured. I hated the rain. I hated the muddy footpath. I hated how dry my hair got from the rain water. I hated that my socks were soaked in my boots, and I hated that it just wouldn't stop fucking raining.

When I was seventeen and in my final year of high school, my crush of four years gifted me a bouquet of daisies and asked me out on a date. I told myself that day that I would probably adore flowers for the rest of my life. I was so sure.

But I was wrong again.

Two weeks after the date, we went through one of the most horrible and selfish break up's I had ever heard of. I was shattered and broken. On top of that, it fucking rained all day. In my sudden anger, I burned the dried bouquet of daisies I had kept, and promised myself that both rain and flowers were going to top my list of most despised things. I had never been more determined in my life.

When I was eighteen I met Harry Styles for the first time. The worst part? He had a bouquet of roses and it was fucking raining.

The first time I met Harry Styles he gifted me a single rose from his bouquet and said it symbolised the beautiful relationship that was about to start. I laughed. I told him relationships only looked beautiful in movies. He told me movies were inspired from real stories. I told him my story had never actually been real. He was confused, but by then I left him standing in the middle of the muddy footpath and was on my merry way.

The second time I ran into Harry Styles, I was met with a posy of frangipani's. He said the flowers represented protection. I laughed again, but protection was something I needed, of course. Except I needed protection from him, though I didn't know at the time. I told him to enjoy his day and walked away once more.

The third time I saw Harry Styles, he was carrying a bunch of gladiolus and forget me not's. He told me he was beginning to grow suspicious at the number of coincidences that led us to cross paths. I told him forget me not's were probably the only flowers I didn't completely deride. This time I stayed, and we talked.

I don't exactly remember what we talked about that day, but I know we laughed till we cried and our jaws hurt, we talked till our throats were parched and we smiled like old lovers who were reunited once more. That night was the first of many where I couldn't sleep.

As soon as the sun lit up the sky, I wasn't so sure whether I still hated flowers and rain as much as I had a few weeks ago.

The first time I kissed Harry Styles, I was convinced that flowers and rainy days were god's gift on earth and I adored them with every atom in my body.

I had never been so fucking wrong in my entire life as I had been that day.