The Lonely

The Lonely by Christina Perri. A story based on a song.

I glance at my watch: 2am. I'm sitting outside on the old swing, soaking wet, but not caring. What was life? A story. Nothing much. Tears roll down my cheeks, as they had been for about 3 hours. I feel nothing. No cold, no fear, no sadness, nothing. I was a shell, a ghost of a girl, with no soul and no meaning in life. I look out beyond the black horizon and listen to the pitter-patter of the rain against the ground, me and the splashing of the river I was swinging above. I know it's there, but I almost don't hear it.

I jump off the swing and walk back towards the prison or a mansion I live in. The lonliness follows me in. I am bare-foot, only wearing a simply white dress. I don't care. When I get to my room, the lonliness is still there. I dream about you.

I'm dancing slowly in an empty room. The room is black, spotlight on me. I am alone. There used to be you there as well, but not anymore. Images of you flash in my eyes, smiling and laughing. You should be here. You should be dancing with me. I'm nothing without you.

I wake up an hour later, dried tears on my face, pillow wet. I get up, still in my dress and no shoes. In a daze, I walk out and sit back on the swing. It starts raining, but I don't care. I start singing a quiet lullaby, one that you taught me. Then it fades out. I didn't want it to, but the lonely took it from me. I let go of the rope holding the swing and fall backwards. I feel a sharp pain at the back of my head. It goes black, and the images of you flash in my head. But I know I'm not dead. I can't be. I have no soul, so I can't be dead.

The End

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