You’re a daughter of kings. Youngest of four. And easily the most repressed. Duty has been so ingrained into your psyche since birth. You never act out of turn, nor complain. The castles you reside in shield from the outside.
It takes you almost two decades to see what the world can offer.
Because everything is the same. The days blend together. Normalcy is boring. Living an illusion that had become life, and left unsatisfied.
You don’t say goodbye, not even to those who deserve them. You’re afraid you wouldn’t have the courage to run.
You start simple, working in bars, desperate to support yourself. But you soon grow restless. You’re lonely and empty as you ever were, performing the same ...view middle of the document...
You’re burning through far through too many aliases, yet still learning more about yourself.
You hate to admit that you’re not the only person you’ve been trying to find on your travels.
You search for her everywhere you go.
On the streets outside your hotel, between supermarket aisles, cafes you like to frequent, parks where you like to settle to watch the clouds. Your glance over your shoulder constantly, scanning crowds and in the faces of people passing for any woman that match her description.
It’s never her.
You’re furious at her for deserting you, just like everybody else in your life. You’re finally ready to accept her offer. At least, you’re at peace with your own identity, searching every corner for the one last loose thread in your life.
The wild child. Who wore her own clothing from the start, refusing to masquerade behind personalities as dictated by others. The only ledger she ever kept stained red. Your parents tut, dismissing her serial travelling down to the fact she herself is going nowhere else in life.
She’s the one who inspired everything in you. You’d never understood why she felt such drive for adventure until now. She felt it as keenly as the air she breathed. In every step she took. Nothing else gave her the same feeling of exhilaration, every imagined desire.
And now you can’t seem to grow out of wanderlust either. Once it’s gotten under your skin, you just can’t seem to shake it.
You once thought that she revelled in the freedom.
But to be free is not why she strived for it. It’s always been what she’d do with the freedom.
Now your own passion for travel and adventures can no longer be sated in the pages in your profound library.
She’s like the wind, refusing to ever be tied down. It’s useless trying to hold onto her. It’s like trying to hold onto air, she will always slip through your fingers.
You’re sick. Ill. Corroding away from poisons beyond anyone’s understanding. You’re doomed....