It’s so hard to remind myself to write, but the best way to do it is simply to begin writing. No other thought process needed. So here I am. Writing. Thinking. And trying to keep this blog active when I don’t know if anyone is actually reading it.
The books you read are just as fundamental to getting you to write. It is this process that makes us want to create something of ourselves, something meaningful. Maybe it makes sense, but maybe it doesn’t. Does it have to make sense though?
She was sitting at the bar late on a Tuesday night. She didn’t really know why. She didn’t even drink, but the place was packed and the only place she could find to sit was at the bar. She looked around nervously, hoping no guys would try to hit on her. She was wearing her dark purple sweater, violet probably in this light with black skinny jeans and leather boots. Her hair was pulled back into a bun. She was waiting on her food then she would go meet her friend at the ice cream place next door unless she showed up here first.
There was a crash and she looked up. She felt something wet on her leg and looked back to see a man staring at a glass at their feet.
“Sorry,” he mumbles and walks away, clearly drunk.
She gets up and begins calling her friend, tired of this noisy scene.
“But, she wanted to have ice cream tonight!” She turns around and there she is. But, with some guy. Is the same guy that just spilled his drink on her?
It is and they’re walking towards her.
“You Caitlyn?” he slurs.
“What is this?” the girl asks her friend, ignoring the drunk in front of her.
“This is TJ, my boyfriend,” the girl who is supposed to be her friend gushes.
“Are you high right now?”
“If you’re not interested in hanging out tonight, just say so instead of wasting time like this.”
Stifled giggling from both of them.
“I’m gone,” the girl sighs as she grabs her bag and walks out alone.
Yet another night of broken promises and a chance to talk about what she wants with who she really loves.