WRITE WHAT YOU WANT TO WRITE
That is the only thing that matters. Yesterday, I wrote about coffee. It was weird, but it was what I wanted to write. That's what matters. Always remember that. Of course sometimes a story becomes something else then you planned in the first place. Sometimes, a story writes itself. And that's okay. But if you don't want to help this story write itself, the answer is simple. DON'T. That's all there is to it. So, that's that, and here's today's story. It's a bit odd, but I wanted to write it so...
Isn’t is funny how easily we walk once we learn? You see children learn to walk, see them see it’s not as hard as it seems. And then, suddenly, they’re teenagers and they walk and talk with friends. And they can walk wherever they please. Including away. Far away. But as children they focus on the walking itself. The journey, not the end. That’s what I do now. Step by step, breath by breath. But after a while, I can’t take the agony of wanting to go back. I close my umbrella, brush some dust off my pretty pink dress, and sit down. I didn’t want to leave, but it’s too late now. I’m gone. Far away from them. It seems that it doesn't really matter who them is, but it does to me. Oh, how it does. I love them. I love my parents. My brother. But what my brother did was unforgivable. He killed someone’s heart, tore it out, and left me to deal with it. He told my best friend that someone didn’t love her, convinced her completely. The hour before her wedding, because he was mad at me, he barged into the bridal room, upsetting all of us in our pink bridesmaid dresses, and told her that her fiance was gone. That he didn't have the guts to marry her. And she believed him. Ran out. And I was left to do nothing but tears to comfort me. I tried to run after her, but it was too late. How can my brother be so hateful? I know he thought he loved her, but I know better. He was wrong. But now who am I to do anything about it? Answer: I am her best friend, the person she trusted this day to, trusting I would help with anything that went wrong. I sigh and open my umbrella again, opening my eyes and ears, trying to track her down.I hear crying and run towards it, not caring when I slip and splash mud onto my dress. It doesn't matter what I look like, or what I feel. This isn’t my day. I hear her, and I decide the only thing I can do is scream her name. And I do. I scream it, and I hear her run towards me, and I know it’s the most wonderful moment in my life.
“It’s fine!” I yell. “Go back to the church. He lied. He still loves you!” And for a moment, disbelief is on her face, and then, trust. And that, just like that, she run for the church.
This is so sweet! Love it. :)
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