Short stories

She.

  She wanted to run. She wanted freedom. She wanted to feel. So she ran. She hastily pulled her cheap little flip flops off and took off. Felling the grass between her toes,she laughed. A real laugh. The green of the grassy field blended perfectly with the pale blue of the sky. The trees swayed, and the birds sang. Wind blew through her gentle blonde-brown hair. The white of her shirt would soon hat green stains from the fall grass. The air was the perfect temperature. The wind the perfect speed. Today the perfect to finally let go of all she was holding back. She skipped around with a smile on her face. Everything was perfect. Except she didn't exist. But you saw her didn't you? You saw the blue of her eyes, the softness of her skin, and the way her long hair flowed freely?  You saw the way she throw her shoes on the ground, the way she laughed, the way she smiled, and the way the trees blew around her? But she not real. She's freedom, and peace. She's the you feel when you finally do something that truly makes you happy. She is you. But she doesn't exist. She is the bird floating in the breeze. She is wind in your hair. She is the smile on your lips. The real smile. Not the fake one that up put on through out the day. She is true happiness. But her hair isn't blonde-brown. Or maybe it is. It could be black, red, blonde, grey, brown, or even pink, blue, or green. She maybe thin she may not be. She could be short or tall.But one thing is for sure, she is life. She is nature. She is happiness, freedom, love, and peace. She's home. But she isn't real.