Thoughts, Ideas and Feelings

So, before you start reading, I would just like to say that everything written here was somewhat off the top of my head. I just followed my thoughts and traced them down (also with narrative aspects to go along with it).

“Like a crescent moon, your smile lights up the dark. Like electricity, your personality creates a spark. Within me, it leaves a mark and like a treasure inside the X on my heart.”

Ellie sat beside her purple, flowery backpack and stared. She held the note softly between her smooth hands and re-read the sentences, line by line. A warm bubbly sensation climbed upwards from the depths of her diaphragm to the centrefolds of her chest. It seemed strange to her, she had never discovered this feeling before today. The note was simply left between the zippers and stuck in the black crook. It hung out like a bright pink tongue from the mouth of a canine without any teeth. Class ended thirty seconds ago, yet it was this poem that stopped Ellie in her tracks and forced her to stay for just a moment more. Buses were to be called soon, yet this text made it seem like they were to be called in a century’s time. Ellie fantasized about the written work.

A smile like a crescent moon and an electrical personality, was that all it took? The question of whether these features were the most profound of the rest, whether it was all in the mind of the beholder. Perhaps these pretty words were simply sprawled next to each other without much thought. Someone had motive, either good or bad.

Is this actually true? The thought of someone taking time to sit down, place a writing instrument in their hand, circle ideas and thoughts within their mind to ultimately display a simple yet satisfying set of descriptive sentences; all solely done for the purpose of pleasing a person emotionally. It’s strange how this social messaging works. It barely enters the very definition of social. Social implies that two parties are together in corrugated conversation where they can trade ideas and opinions while in each other’s presence. Yet, as Ellie scanned the land ahead not one individual was taking notice of her or what she was doing. Therefore, no one was in her presence. So, what did the writer think would come from this deluded illustration? That Ellie would simply befriend or be attracted to him all in the name of ‘love’ even though the authors name isn’t printed down? Why would he go to all this trouble without even mentioning credit for himself? A masterpiece needs a composer, just as much as a composer needs an audience. It was definitely a baffling set of circumstances, as if all earthly logic had been ‘thrown out the window’ and ignored completely. Yet, maybe this is a sign of weakness and insecurity. Did he, the mystery writer, think that Ellie was simply too different or separated from his type of lifestyle to be even associated with her? Or maybe, in a wretched attempt to win over her affection he simply aimed for the ‘bigger goal’, a slight chance that this message could follow on to more advanced properties; a possible sexual relation. Why couldn’t he just approach her, talk to her, tell her how he felt. It does seem that when people talk about such unveilings it quickly becomes silenced; almost taboo.

The large intercom called upon the riders of the vehicle titled ‘Bus 11’.

Humans are odd creatures, Ellie concluded before grabbing her bag and shuffling to her bus.

The End

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