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This Story is a Song

It was the sad story of the rest of their lives. Boring Mondays, busy Fridays, and all the compliments of that which is oddly normal and unevenly in-between. That life had not severed its purpose for me, and the world and I had soon grown sick of it. I was an idealist, a writer, and an optimist from the beginning of my time. I did not openly show this, as I remained clearly undefined in the face of the public shadow. In my existence, I was neither a runner nor a fighter. Neither a surrealist nor a realist. I showed nothing and I was wondering what to do.
I fled the small town of Willow Montana in search of a new place and a higher meaning. In search of someone more like me. Someone who was creative. Someone who shared an eccentric interest and goal. Someone you couldn’t find in my small town.
I sat alone on a park bench in an attempt to escape from the sounds and pollution of my new city. The grass in the park reminded me of the place I came from, but the air held a stable taint of smoke. I looked up to the sky to find the stars where gone. At that moment, I felt frustrated, desperate, and defeated. I searched all day and found no one.
“Come on!” I screamed as I jumped out of the bench “I tried! I tried really hard! I don’t care if it’s a girl like me! I don’t care if it’s a guy! I don’t care about their title! I only care about their name! I don’t care about their fortune! I only care about their world! Please, I beg of you just give me someone!”
All the people in the park heard me. They gave me awkward looks, backed away, and whispered. I did not care. Embarrassed or not, at least I made a solid appearance.
“So you’ve been looking too.” Said a boys voice behind me.
I turned around to answer.
“Yes.” I said
“Me too.” He said, “I’m glad you escaped.”
“You too.” I said, “I’m glad you found me.”
“Yeah, what do we do now?” He asked
“We live now.” I said.
At that he smiled. I took his hand, and we walked away together.




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