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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Literary Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
Everyone has seemingly adopted the same definition of love. This story shows how different my definition is.

Submitted: April 14, 2013

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Submitted: April 14, 2013




It's funny to me whenever someone says " I know you'll push through it!" in response to someone else having a hard time, bad day, or just over all not feeling good because you've got some of the biggest heartache cases any one has ever seen. I think it's funny, and not in a good way, how naive they can be with that statement. The reason being, it's both true and untrue at the same time.


While, yes, that person is in fact trying to push through it all and hoping it will all be over soon, there's a lingering fact that has to be dealt with. It's that it won't be over soon. That's just one of the contributing factors. That person will never know how long they'll keep pushing through, how far they have to go, or if they're even going in the right direction. The only beacons they have to look for are really good friends. The only help they recieve while putting up with all the shit is slight consolation from their closest friends. They still sit in the ditch all day letting the world walk over them. You may come think that this kind of person has just given up.


Please don't think that. This kind of person lets the world and life pass by because included in the world passing by is a another type of person. Almost like a ying to the lonely one's yang.


I've found myself to be the first type of person. Things don't seem right any more. I feel like I lose friends too easily. I thought that my closest one would be right by my side as I would for him. Now we never speak to each other. We've become strangers and at that moment a nightmare washed over me. The sudden realization that it is possible to lose someone easily even if they've been close since you first moved to a new place as a child. Things are WAY too scary. People don't seem kind any more. The ones who do I consider my friends, but sometimes they start to change. I become too afraid of losing them that I lose sleep some nights. I sit here in this metaphorical ditch, cold and alone, as people thought to be friends come and go. Rarely do they stay, but some are still here. It may be just a matter of time before they too, move on and leave me. 


Hope has become scarce for me at this point. I see people willing to meet me, but I can see it in their eyes; the change soon to come. The unbearable feeling that they will soon find out who I am. A normal person, yes, but a sad, depressed, angry human being. Rarely does hope overcome that feeling of inevitability. There is, how ever one desperate shread of hope that I still am hanging on to by a thread.


I can see her often; dancing around in the stream of the passing world. She moves slowly forward. Not hesitation caused by fear, no. She moves with a curious curiosity. It makes one think, how could a person find such a dull passing world so enlightening? The answer soon shows. She makes it that way. Her movement is her reflecting on the things she creates. She finds them interesting, and makes more because of it. Repeat this process, for she is an artist. She takes the world around her and makes another. A whole new world, willing to be shared with those who choose to accept it. I sit here now in the ditch, less depressed and more amused. She is a interesting person. One whose funny, sees past the dull molds on people and finds what makes them laugh. She looks all around her and changes people. She is perfect.


Now, I try to stand. Stand up and out of this ditch. Tripping and falling back into it, I should have realized. A person like me would never catch her creative eye. A person like her would fail to see such an unworthy heap. My hope is that she does, in fact, try to find me. Include me in your world, I can make so much for you. I can create worlds you would never think of! I can do such more! Think of us together! So much more times ten! And now I try, try to stand. Stand on my own. I am up and, legs shaking, I move forward. She is there, I can see her! Such a world we can create, it will be glorious! But, alas, the passing world knocks me back down. Into the ditch, I sit and wait. I wait for her recognize me. To give some faint consideration. To add to my hope. 


It has not happened yet, as I am still here in the ditch. My dream is to one day look up and see her hand. Outstretched and reaching for me. Her beautiful hand, wishing for mine. She wishes to show me her world. She wishes for a writer, a writer to make her drawings come alive. She wishes to create more of a world alongside one who is capable. I remember, one day in a ditch. I had offered, but no one heard. I can then offer, and she will hear! She will know that I can help and gladly at that. We shall create such amazing things! Worlds of untold wonder! Stories of moral and excellence all told through brilliant works of art! Visual masterpieces that treat the senses to something first class! The stuff of legend will fall into our hands and we will make our own to keep and share. We will make this passing world halt in it's tracks. we will fill the ditch I was knew so that no other will have to bear it's horrid deep depression. Oh, what a world! That would be life worth living!


But I look up and no one is there. No outstretched hand. No invitation. All I see is a blur that I now have come to call life being lived. I see her move and she sees only her beautiful world. I hold my hope strong and pray that one day this dream will come true. 



Because if a person like me were to meet a person like her...








.... we'd be perfect.

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