The Missing Pieces

Prolongue

Being lonely isn't easy. But possible?

I sat down at a café and stared out the window at the view of the wet streets, subtle smoke rising as the cool rain hit the hot asphalt.
"May I take your order?" I snapped my head back to the blonde waitress with blue eyes waiting for me to respond.
I looked down at the closed menu then back at her. "I'll have some black coffee and a latte," she gave me a look of curiosity but didn't persue it. "Coming right up." She walked away with her heels clicking on the tile floor.

After my sixteenth birthday my life became more exciting and dangerous. The possibility of making mistakes was higher because I had to start making the choices on my own. By the time I was seventeen I had got the hang of life and mistakes, I was independent and free. I wasn't rich but my job at the Emily dance company payed well enough for life to be good. Now at the age of eighteen I felt like I was missing something and I knew what that thing was. Something I never had.

Love.