How would you feel? (Harry Styles) || COMPLETED

55. Love You Goodbye

July 2nd 2015, New York

After spending the past couple of days with Jack, that was the first time I was going to roam around the streets of Manhattan completely alone. In fact, he had to attend some lessons at uni so he was busy all day. I was - or had recently become someone that needed some alone time once in a while so I was kind of happy.

My plan for the day had been to walk with no destination and get lost in the city... or so I thought that afternoon when I wore a wide leg black jumpsuit, put some mascara and my red lipstick on and left the flat.

After crossing Fifth Avenue, and walking past Bryant Park, I found myself in front of the Museum of Modern Art. I wasn't a big lover of paintings but, for some weird reason, I really felt the need to to go inside.

Soon, I was wandering around the museum, surrounded by pieces of art I probably didn't get. Art - or should I say the way they made us study art - was one of the subjects I hated the most when I was in school. Reading what art critics had to say about paintings annoyed me. Pretty much like music critics tried to over analyze our lyrics, I was convinced that they were just trying too hard to find the meaning behind the work. I hated the idea of it. Maybe it was because I liked the mystery: not knowing the reason why the painter had decided to draw those things intrigued me, just like not knowing what pushed Kurt Cobain to write Rape Me, or whatever, made me love the song even more... it made it more... mine. That's why I didn't like when interviewers asked me the inspiration behind the song... but that was another story.

In short: I didn't know much about art or artists. Sure, I recognized the biggest names and I knew stupid details about them (aka I knew that Van Gogh had cut his ear off or that Salvador Dalì was known for his bizarre images), but I really didn't know much about their style or their works. I felt out of place until I got myself together, stopped overthinking it and decided to just enjoy my visit and spend some time in front of every painting that I liked, even if I didn't know anything about it. I didn't need to know the techniques, I just wanted to see if they could make me feel something... and they did. Every piece was different, special. I felt satisfied as I finally realized why people loved art.

Finally, I arrived in front of The Starry Night by Van Gogh. In a way, I felt emotional because I could remember how I adored the painting when I was younger. Even then, there was something about the colors used, about the whirling clouds, that made me feel weird inside... like I could relate to it.

"How does it make you feel?" a voice I recognized too well came from behind me, "the painting..." he continued as he placed himself right next to me. I smelled the cologne and my knees went weak.

I tried to look calm, even if an avalanche was taking place in my body. He didn't say anything more, I took a look at him but he kept on staring at the painting in front of us. "Trapped..." I suddenly said, "it makes me feel trapped, haunted... and cold"

"Why's that?" he finally looked at me. His green eyes staring into mine and sending shivers down my spine. I didn't say anything, I didn't have the strength. Unexpectedly seeing him, hearing him talk to me, had shocked me.

"It makes me feel torn," he said. I wanted to yell at him that he didn't only make me feel torn, that he made me feel worse: empty, lost, sad, mad. But I kept it together, he didn't deserve to see my anger - nor my tears, not anymore.

"Do you... want to go on with your visit?" he insecurely asked and I only nodded. I tried to walk away but noticed him following me. So it was going to be that way? Did he really think he could appear out of nowhere after a whole month and everything was going to be okay? What did he even want? I couldn't even look at paintings anymore. My mind was too confused and full of questions to focus.