Dear Harry,

You can call me June, but that’s not my real name.

Sometimes I think I get too comfortable with sadness, I wear it around like it’s a winter coat, it keeps me warm.

I am afraid to move forward, I am afraid to venture into the uncharted territory that is happiness.
Contentment is just within reach, if I stretched my fingers far enough, I could grasp it and pull it close. Instead I cling to my darkness, because it is familiar to me.

I’m telling you this because once, you cared.
But when you found out the untameable depth of my sadness, you left.
Just how you left everyone else.

You left a lot of people who needed you Harry.

You ran away from your problems, from your life. Everything was so foreign when you left, it still is….

But Harry, I’m giving you a chance to redeem yourself.
Write back Haz,
Please.
I really need a friend right now.

Even though you don’t know my real identity, please find it in the good of your heart to reply… if you still have a heart that is.

-June.

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25th July
Dear Harry,

I don’t know if you received my last letter, alert me some how if you did.

How are you doing?

Where are you?

Why did you flea from your life?

I know it’s unlikely you will answer these questions that I’m craving for answers but just know, it would mean a lot to me..

I’m convinced you left because of me.

I saw you the morning before you ran,
bag was in hand, eyes red and bloodshot.
You didn’t realise I was behind you.
You never really did
Until I gathered my courage and asked if we could hang out.

You know that feeling?

When you’re just waiting.

Waiting to get into your room,

Close the door and fall into bed.

And just let everything out, that you kept in all day.

The feeling of both relief and desperation.

Nothing is ‘wrong’.

But nothing is right either.

And you’re tired.

Tired of everything, tired of nothing.

And you just want someone to be there and tell you it’s okay.

But no-one’s going to be there.

And you know you have to be strong for yourself, because no-one can fix you.

But you’re tired of waiting

Tired of having to be the one to fix yourself and everyone else.

Tired of being strong.

And for once, you just want it to be easy.

To be simple. To be helped. To be saved.

But you know you won’t be.

But you’re still hoping.

And you’re still wishing.

And you’re still staying strong and fighting.

With tears in your eyes,

You’re fighting.

You’re visions a bit blurry,

And you don’t know where you’re headed.

But you just hope it’s the right way.

I hope I’m going the right way,
Please write back.
Please.

-June.

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5th August
Dear Harry,

My breath has been delivering out the words ‘sorry’ far too many times now that my lips have become the bearers of false regret,

But I promise you, I regret the inability and lack of courage for me to say sorry to the person who truly deserved it.
You.
I’m sorry that you wasted so many hours trying to capture a simple sliver of a smile from my lips,
But left with the image of my stubborn straight lined lips.

I’m sorry that whenever you managed to succeed in making me smile,
I backed away and my smile morphed back into my frown-that I wore too well.

I’m sorry that when your mouth said and cried the most effervescent of words,
mine just whispered back utter silence.

My mind was filled with monsters,
And yours was filled with stars,

With that I’m sorry I didn’t say sorry to the person who truly deserved it,
You.

I’m sorry Harry for always pushing you away and I thank you for everything you tried to do for me.


-June.
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23rd December

Dear Harry,

Sorry I haven’t written to you for a while,

I figured it wouldn’t matter since you won’t write back anyway.

I have nothing to say to you.

-June

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12th January
Dear Harry,

I plan to say lots of terrible things when I see you, but I think I just want you to know, I miss you.
-June.

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7th March.
Dear Harry,

I remember you so vividly.

I remember our memories, I’m desperate to reminisce them, but I don’t want to reveal who I am just yet.

I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately,
where did you go?
Do you call this dump of a town ‘home’?
Or was it simply a stopover; a place where you knew eventually that you would leave?

I saw your dad the week after you left, at school.
I asked him where you were, “I’ll be damned if I knew” his angry reply sounded.
I asked if maybe you were in trouble, “Maybe we should look for him sir.”
He looked at me like I had grown three heads and stormed out of the hallway.

I obviously hit a nerve there.

The day I spoke to your dad, I ‘wagged’ school and scoured the town looking for you I posted flyers in places we visited together and I physically searched our neighbourhood, no luck there.

I never found you, I really wish I did.

-June.

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20th March.
Dear Harry,

My demons are exploding ferociously, throughout the past couple of months my head has been a scary theme park.

School-mates and peers are ‘bullying’ me, saying I’m better off dead.
That I make everyone run away…

When I got home I cried, my brother saw; he came up to me with anger radiating from his green orbs and he started yelling at me.

It sounded bitter and sharp, it left a large dent in my ego. That week I wore a lot of makeup as he made me feel so insecure and upset.

But the tormenting didn’t stop there;

They criticised every flaw and detail of my being and tagged it on the back of my desk. Every word imprinting on my memory…

After school, I decided the safer option at the moment would be to walk home, however they followed me and when I got to the corner of my street they teased and hit me…

You will never guess who was in that pack; Brady.

Brady, your best friend, remember him? He looked at me with sad eyes as he followed me home but when we got to that corner where everyone was pounding me. Brady kicked them all off and helped me up, he stared at me and whispered
“I miss him too. Eventually it will be alright.” With that he left. We haven’t spoken since.

They are all missing you Harry, I’m missing you.

Even though, i know if you came back nothing would ever be the same, it would at least help me sleep at night-knowing you were safe.

-June.
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23rd March.
Dear Harry,

I’m losing hope in everything…
In you.
In my mum.
My brother.
The people who are destined to make my life unliveable.
In your parents.
Everything.

It’s like I’m living in this black and white movie, with muffles noised and dark shadows.
Nothing holds any meaning anymore.

And nothing is ever worth it because I can no longer see the colour in things, and I have no idea how to paint everything back to the way it was.
It’s like I’m on a theatre screen and everyone’s watching me, and they’re just dying for the film to end.

-June.

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14th May.

Dear Harry,

The people that have entirely
-but not-
completely forgotten about me have begun to worry.
They think I’m delusional.

I’m not, I promise you Harry, I’m not delusional.

Though I’m not delusional I can’t defend that I’m not sad, because I am. I truly am.

The reflection of my razor blade is the most sane,’exciting’ thing I have.
The reflection shows galaxies, mountains and doors, filled with ‘One days…’ and ‘It will get better…’

But I don’t want to get better.
Apparently this is how I’m delusional; I don’t want to get better, sadness is my safety.

My problems make me, me. Every inch of my persona consist of my problems, they are my worth.
Without them… I’m nothing.

So yesterday, while I wandered vagabond and gazed at how many colours dying trees contain, my mum called the
psychiatrist.

I visited him today, I found him strange, he left a bland taste in my mouth and I wondered if his other ‘patients’ had the urge to ask him where they went wrong to end up in his office?

So I told him a story.

Our story.

I told him how you disappeared, and that was when all the ‘bad things’ started to happen.
He asked me if you were still alive.
I was confused, of course you were.
There is no way you could be dead, No Way.

The psychiatrist was quick to prescribe me with a handful of pills and a diagnosis of depression and a rather long form of adjustment disorder.-whatever the hell that is...
I miss you.
-June.
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22nd May.
Dear Harry,

When I first got the pills I took them everyday, hoping that maybe my ‘bullies’ would notice a difference in me and they would stop harassing me… they didn’t work though and nothing changed. So I stopped taking them.

Yesterday Brady came and visited me; I was surprised, he was your friend not mine, I only ever saw him when I watched you play football in the mornings remember?-you are probably guessing who I am by now.

Anyway, he came to my house and he cried.
He was going on about how sorry he was and that you would be so disappointed in him.
He said he wanted one last talk with you before you killed yourself.

I was mortified, Brady thinks you’re dead too!
I explained how you aren’t dead and maybe if you’re getting my letters you will come and visit.

Brady stopped wailing and looked me in the eyes, I felt insecure under his gaze it reminded me of you.

Brady started talking he asked me if it was true; if I really didn’t understand what happened to you.

I’m still confused now. What is everyone talking about Harry. I need you here.
You know how I said I was fighting with tears in my eyes and my vision was getting blurry.

Well now, Harry I’m practically blinded by confusion.
Where are you?
What happened to you?
-June
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25th May.
Dear ‘June’[ better known to me as Ash],

You’re either Summer or Winter but Harry died last Spring.

I’m sorry.

I know you don’t understand, you probably won’t for a long while.

But I just need to let you know.

He’s gone and he’s not coming back.

You’re ‘illness’ it alters and changes your memory and perception of a single event in the past.

Harry was your event, when he died he caused you so much stress and pain that your body tricked you into thinking he wasn’t dead, just gone for a little while.

He killed himself.

He left a note for you but I’ve been so scared to give it to you, I can’t stand to see you this sad, it’s intolerable.

I’m a coward for not telling you this myself but I know you were in love with him and I couldn’t bare the thought of breaking your heart, your hopes.

But now it seems as though there’s nothing there to break anymore.

I’m sending you Harrys’ letter to you. His suicide letter, He didn’t write anyone else a letter… just you. I promise I didn’t read it. I didn’t even open it.
Look it over, examine it. Ash or June-whoever you want to be, please try really hard to see the truth. The truth behind your ‘delusion’.

-Brady.
P.S. I’m so sorry, for everything.
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3rd January.

ONLY FOR ASH TO READ.

FROM HARRY.

Dear Ash,

I’m sorry.
I know by the time you read this I will be dead.
You can’t change my mind, or intentions.

This was something I had to do to stop the voices.
They were never-ending.
I want you to know that this is what I wanted.

I wanted to stop the pain.
The only reason I hadn’t done it sooner was you.
You were my anchor in life Ash.
But you were so sad, so, so sad.

I’m sorry this isn’t a magical poem that will make my life worth the pain, I could never write as well as you could.
I’m sorry I left you alone.
I’m sorry I never got to say a proper goodbye. I guess I was afraid. Afraid of you.
You would change my mind without having to say anything. Just merely being in your presence graced me with safety and understanding, I couldn’t keep leaching off of you though.

I loved you Ash, but I know you would never love me back so I distracted myself from you; best option for the both of us.

I missed you even before I died.
And I promise you, I never meant to hurt you.

You can do this Ash, you can survive. That’s who you are; a survivor.
-Harry.


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Dear Harry,

This is my last letter I’m sending you.

Only because;

I understand.

I can’t explain the feeling I got when I saw your scribbled writing on the white envelope Brady sent me.

Paralysis struck my body, ice flowed through my veins as my fingers brushed against the smooth paper. Your voice whispered silent nothings in my head.

And I read it.
For hours I reread your letter, and eventually it made sense.
It finally all made sense.

I wish you saw yourself as how I saw you; iridescent.

It ruined me, knowing that all of this was actually real; your illness, your death…
At first I assumed that it would never happen, because the idea was ludicrous for the world to rid such a wonderful, intelligent, eternally amazing boy.

But it did.
And to me, the world has never been so cruel.

So, on this I’m finally saying goodbye.

Goodbye Harry.
Thank you.

-June.

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