Every waking moment is so lonely for her.
Dull and tedious people walk past her, fulfilling their days with nothing more than exploiting their lives for other's entertainment.
She walks past them, knowing she is only a viewer of everyone else's life.
Where is her life?
Each night she lays in a field, grass dew absorbing into the cotton of her shirt.
She cries to the stars, telling them her soul's darkest speculations.
She stays late, allowing her voice to trail into oblivion; she begins to think no one listens anymore.
Getting up, she takes one look overhead, seeing such euphoric bodies spot such a dark sky.
A shooting star sails across the black ocean above.
She thanks them for listening and turns to the moon.
A breeze hits, setting the tone of the night.
The night she sees him.
Angled above the moon sits one star, peering at her with such a glorious glow.
Nothing more than a joint in the Pisces constellation.
He winks, giving her a palliative feeling.
YOU ARE READING
Pisces Joint ⇒ complete
Short StoryBecause ever star in a constellation is its own soul
