Introverted Insomniac

There was a girl and there was a boy. Typical. And there was a storyteller. Now, not so typical. There was shyness there was flirting. Typical. And there were long moments of silence. Now, not so typical. There was a secret crush. Typical. And he was never seen again. Now, not so typical.

She wasn't sure. Classic. Let's start at the roots.

It started eighteen years ago. From something as innocent as a playdate. I have a vague recollection of mud, spilled orange juice and a thoroughly wrecked dress. There was a boy and there was a girl. Again.

Sixteen years ago. There's a faint memory of a shattered vase tufts of hair yanked from our heads and another wrecked dress. There was a boy and there was a girl. Get the gist?
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She needed someone whose being interrelated with her's on a level which she understood. This is not spiritual. Our spirit is ours alone. Not meant to be shared. It's our notions that are meant to be shared. There used to be someone. His name I shall not reveal.

She didn't need someone whom she could be herself with. She's already the best present version of herself. She doesn't need anybody to condone her being.

Some of you will regard this as unintelligible I'm sure. Some will even dismiss it as ridiculous. But these are not the people I speak of. I speak of you. I speak of what you think of my musings. And I'm sure you'll let me know.
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