The worst kind of “alone” is when you have so many friends and yet you still feel separated from the crowd… the worst part is that your friends are the ones that make you feel separated.

He was the same, people were the same, her family was the same, her friends were the same, tv shows were the same, places were the same, everything was just so consistant that she hoped everyday that if her life wasn’t going to change for better, at least it would change for worse…

 and now she wished that she could take back her wish.

Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew you…

Fingers entwined with each other,

and legs entangled together,

they breathe heavily.

and every breath they drew was hallelujah…

19 is the loneliest number…

She sat quietly behind the bar and watched as people passed by the Cafe. it was monday and busy as it was expected, yet she didn’t have anything to do or anywhere to go but to sit where she was now and stare at the people of the city who had more on their minds than to care about why she spent her time sitting alone at a cafe for hours. She inhaled the smell of the black liquid and smiled for the first time in the day. She was a regular; she knew the cafe owner, she knew the smiley couple who always sat in the window booth, and she knew the painter who wasn’t very pleasant to talk to; she knew and yet everything looked so unfamiliar in this particular day. She had known the city for 19 years, she was born in the city. She lived and loved and was loved in the city, and yet the city made her choose between loving and living. When it came to that,  she cried, she thought and for a time she even avoided thinking about it. but at the end she chose the city and was left alone; now it was only living in the city and she couldn’t love with the loved one gone.

She took out the lighter from her bag and turned it on. She stared at the flame for a moment, made a wish and blew.

19 was the loneliest number.

small town girl with big city dreams…

Miss Green lived in an inn, in a very very small town; where new things rarely happened, and every day the sun rose from the same place and dawned to the same place. Miss green lived an ordinary life, she woke up when the rays of light found their way in her room, she took a shower and drank her coffee, then headed for public library, and asked if there were any new titles available and browsed through the books that she had seen hundreds of times before. At 10.30 she left the library for the inn, and on her way she waved greetings at Mr. Brown the owner of the town’s biggest store and occasionally blushed when Red the attractive stock boy smiled at her. She went to her room and changed to a pair of black pants and a white shirt and came down to the restaurant to wait on the regular townies who liked to gather together and gossip about what went on and most of the time they would repeat the stories told so many times that they had lost their credibility. After the lunch hours she sat by the pound south the inn and read a book that would give her wings so she could fly away and away from her small town and go to a big city with sky rises and more libraries. And when Mrs. Yellow sent Jade her fellow waiter to take her back to the real world she would pout a little.
Sundays were the days her heartbeat quickened up. She put on her newly laundered dress and wore her hair down and waited in the kitchen till it was seven and Mr. and Mrs. Black came in all their glory, with their expensive car and expensive clothes. Mr. Black called for waiter and she’d make sure to be the one taking their orders. She stood before him with red cheeks that she hoped wouldn’t give her away and with hands so shaky that she’d pray he didn’t notice. She took the orders and went to the kitchen where she leaned on the wall and let the ecstasy she just experienced sink away which it did not completely, at least not until she threw herself on the bed and made a snow angel on her white spreads and let the dreams of Mr. Black take her away from the small town to where he lived as it was either her dreams or the books…

and she was just one…

They all wrote about the stars, the trees, the flowers and the scent in the wind… but nobody ever wrote about how the lights twinkled in the nightlife of the city as she sat besides the window with a mugful of  coffee and watched and watched as those twinkling stars went to sleep and  yet she was awake…