Rain is pelleting down onto me as if I'm a target for its vile, sadistic attack, as the wind is menacingly whistling as I sit on the side of the road, waiting for a cab to pick me up. My, supposedly waterproof, boots are filling up with musky water from the overflowing drains, which must be what the ominous stench is. It's not affecting me though. The pungent odour, and the sticky, wet socks, clinging and grasping onto my toes for dear life. Everything's just numb. I'm just a dull, incompetent, immature boy.
It's been sixty weeks, since I saw Vienna. I vividly remember her wearing an out-of-fashion bomber jacket, adorned with the hand-sewn patches of places she adored. She was beautiful, in her own way. In a way which didn't take into account her looks. She was half-timid, half-assertive, so confident, inspiring and convincing with her views, yet so easily belittled. But she was a real lady. Accidentally excessive with her elegance, while doing every little thing she had to do, even her walk made her look like pure royalty.
Now, I'm treating my memory of her like a fire. Letting it burn out, not fighting it, and trying to move on. It's a lot harder than it may seem, my brain is constantly pondering its way back to her unforgettable image. Me being compared to her, is like a rat being compared to a cat. One is a domestic, family-loved, affectionate friend, and the other is a disease-ridden, appalling, cunning rodent. It's hard to think about the way I loved her, and she didn't even acknowledge me, showing complete ignorance towards me. But that's the reality, and reality is meant to be rough and gritty.
YOU ARE READING
Since I saw Vienna
Short StoryA boys POV of falling in love with a girl he never talked to, only saw, based on a song. I was (and still am) very tired when I wrote this, so it probably doesn't make much sense, nor will it be any good lol.
