Faye

Prologue (I)

I think I'm falling out of love.

Don't worry, this has happened before. It's like I feel like I am not a priority anymore. It's like he has this feeling nagging behind in his head that I'll always be there no matter what.

And I'm not saying that he's wrong, definitely not, but I'm definitely not happy to be said with that either.

I am his girlfriend and I am not an object of predicament. I mean, c'mon tell me, was I being too demanding while all I asked was for him, to spend some time with me?

Well okay I understand he's got work and stuff to do but seriously? When did I, a full grown adult human being whom you swore to stay forever with (no not the marriage vows but still you know, couple things) become a 'time consumer' for you? I used to be the one who soothed you and you ran up to me always after a bad day. But now? Am I no more as comforting as I used to be? Am I now a boring topic for you? Am I not, sigh, enough?

My mind came to a halt as I rambled, this very pretty and precise speech in my head.

Maybe this has faded away. Maybe, this has fallen prey to the regularity, the monotony, and in this world full of fluttering variety, who likes to stick to the same old when you can get something new and better out there with so much ease, and not so much?

Not many.

Maybe this isn't working out anymore. Maybe this, my relationship is supposed to end.

Not every story has a perfect ending, or does it? Maybe, and quite positively that's what makes the other perfect cliché romances blockbusters.

Indeed.

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I lazily close my MacBook and push it aside over my blankets. I groan as I fall back on my pillow and feel something poking underneath my back. I turn around and push whatever it is and flop aside and kick all of the clutter down my bed.

I'm such a pig.

Wafers, chocolate wrappers, a Pepsi can, soda, and what not.

Jeez, I wonder which other twenty one year old is like me.

I mean, look at the world. Other people of my age, they're busy elevating freaking empires their flourishing businesses, fashion statements, empowering other youngsters...you name any bloody thing they're leaving their mark.

And me?

Well here I am, on my bed, resting my heavy head on my wafer crumb covered pillow, waiting for me to suddenly become Mark Zuckerberg or to marry Bill Gates.

That's a nice idea actually, but sadly, they're both married, and old.

I must be their daughter's age. Ew. Well not Mark's..

I push myself to wake up, and check my phone as it reads 4:52.

When did I fall prey to insomnia?

It's just me and my irregular routines. Well my mom also suggested I do a photo shoot for National Geographic for their new Nocturnal diaries magazine coming up, and I didn't understand what she meant and dismissed her as I declared her mad and out of date, until I accidentally saw my face in a pool of water in the sink and I saw it. My horrible face, with dark puffy bags under my beautiful hazel eyes.

Well what else do you expect four medium coffee mugs a day to do to you?

I'm not insomniac after all. It's the coffee.

And I'm not one to leave coffee.

So yeah, eye bags shall stay with me.

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Hey there, first chapter!

I hope you guys liked it. ;)

Love,

AP