A Story of Us

The Story of Us

"I don't understand why you keep on writing," she told me. "It's not like you're getting paid for it."
"But I'm getting paid for it," I said, smiling softly at her. "Everytime they cry, smile, laugh their ass out, get scared or start hurting when they read my story, it makes me happy."
"But it's not enough, though," she groused.
I put my pen down and wrapped my arms around her lovely form. Placing a tender kiss on her neck, I said, "This world could use a little bit of emotions, love. I like to imagine that I could help someone out with my story. Give them a reason to hope. To love. To see the world differently, even if it's just for a short amount of time. I want them to see that there's someone who knows what they're going through and that somehow, someway, it will get better."
She sighed in exasperation and wrapped her arms around my neck. "I get it. Anyway, what's your story all about?"
I grinned and hugged her closer to me. "The story of us."